


Intercalation

by hesterbyrde



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Drinking, F/M, Fix-It, Gun Violence, Historically accurate homophobia, M/M, Multi, Original Character(s), Polyamory, Post-Canon, Smoking, Suicide Attempt, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Violence, but it is there, but it's pretty brief, not terribly graphic, radiation related illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2020-10-13 04:21:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 95,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20576378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hesterbyrde/pseuds/hesterbyrde
Summary: Standing on the poisoned ground of Chernobyl, Boris and Ulana watch helplessly as the car drives away from the makeshift courthouse. They watch with their hearts in their throats and their stomachs in their shoes as the KGB drive away with their comrade in tow. Not "comrade" in the Party sense of the word. They'd perverted it. If telling a truth that potentially saved lives was punished like this, they'd perverted it. They perverted everything.But what else was there to call it? They'd never dared name the strange shape that had formed around the three of them. Between them. Through them. A year in the crucible of Chernobyl had changed them inexorably, as the accident would change everything for kilometers around it and for years to come.And now they were split asunder, just as cruelly as they had been fused together."Where are they taking him?" Ulana asks, staring up at Boris with wide, lost eyes. She looks shell-shocked. Horrified. I did this,her face says. I told him to tell the truth at all costs, and now he's going to pay. Just him. It should be me.





	1. What Isn't Going to Happen

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings all! Happy Monday!
> 
> Welcome to my Chernobyl fix-it fic devoted to our Golden-if-slightly-irradiated trio. Thank you so much for reading! Let me take care of a few housekeeping matters before we get to the chapter.
> 
> First off, this fic is completed. I post weekly on Mondays, usually sometime before noon CST. I'll post on my Tumblr if it becomes necessary to change the schedule.
> 
> I know there's a lot of translating being done in this fandom. If you'd like to translate my work, please speak to me about it first. I can be reached here or over at my Tumblr @littlethingwithfeathers. I welcome translations, but I'd like to be aware and involved in the process. Otherwise, please no reposting of this work on any other site. 
> 
> Please note that this fic is a little heavy in the emotion department. There's a lot of angst, and I also write about Valery Legasov's first attempt at suicide, which happens in chapter 6. I'll post another warning on that chapter just to make sure people are aware. In that vein, I did my best to tag everything, but if I've missed something please don't hesitate to reach out and let me know to add a tag.
> 
> Also, I understand that this sort of fic borders on RP fic for a lot of people. Feeling that way is totally valid. Feel free to hit the back button if this is not your bag. Don't feel obligated to tell me. Just go find something that you do enjoy reading. Same goes for OT3/Threesome/Polyamory. 
> 
> I have a great many people to thank for helping me with this fic. My beta-readers @kaminaduck (follow him at that handle on Twitch and Tumblr) and my dear friend Lucas. Plus this fic has an honest to goodness science expert! My friend @cactusowl (Tumblr) helped me a great deal with a lot of the science in this fic, including a number of lectures and corrections of some scientific practices. He pretty much is my Valery Legasov in a few places, with his lectures in the story stemming directly from discussions we have had about the show and the science of radiation. Also many thanks to @jedikatalina (Tumblr) for patiently answering all my questions about Soviet culture. I'm sure I've still made a lot of mistakes, but I'm less wrong than I would have been. So thank you all... a fic like this really does take a village.
> 
> And thank you again for reading. I hope you enjoy this little post-Chernobyl adventure as I endeavor to get out trio out of the mess Charkov has stuck them in. I look forward to hearing your feedback.
> 
> Cheers everyone!

***

Intercalate - transitive verb

in·ter·ca·late | \ in-ˈtər-kə-ˌlāt \

-to insert or position between or among existing elements or layers, such as days into a calendar or molecules into a crystal lattice or geological structure.

***

**July 16, 1987**

Standing on the poisoned ground of Chernobyl, Boris and Ulana watch helplessly as the car drives away from the makeshift courthouse. They watch with their hearts in their throats and their stomachs in their shoes as the KGB drive away with their comrade in tow. Not "comrade" in the Party sense of the word. They'd perverted it. If telling a truth that potentially saved lives was punished like this, they'd perverted it. They perverted everything.

But what else was there to call it? They'd never dared name the strange shape that had formed around the three of them. Between them. Through them. A year in the crucible of Chernobyl had changed them inexorably, as the accident would change everything for kilometers around it and for years to come.

And now they were split asunder, just as cruelly as they had been fused together.

"Where are they taking him?" Ulana asks, staring up at Boris with wide, lost eyes. She looks shell-shocked. Horrified. _I did this,_ her face says. _I told him to tell the truth at all costs, and now he's going to pay. Just him. It should be me._

She's clearly expecting to be chastised. Boris knows that look. He's seen it in his subordinates before. And if he's being honest, he is angry with her in this moment. He does blame her at least in part for what happened, but he doesn't have the heart to lay into her. The fight is gone from him. He'd warned her before and that was enough input from him on the matter. And if the look in her dampening eyes was any indication, she would blame herself for this for the rest of her life. 

Besides, it had ultimately been Valery's choice in the end. And it had been Boris who'd made sure he got to make that choice. They were equally culpable.

But what had she expected, anyway? What had either of them expected really? Adulation? Acclaim? Some shade of aghast horror that would lead to swift reform?

Clearly so. He hadn't been wrong when he'd called her naive. But then again… so was he. His deal with the KGB had been a colossal failure. So here they were. A matching pair of naive fools watching as their comrade was taken away from them.

"Boris?" She implores, her voice beginning to give and crack under the weight of her sorrow.

"I don't know." Boris answers with a hanging shake of his head. The truth is what she has always claimed to want so the truth is what she gets. Besides, Ulana can smell the truth a mile off. She had proved that when she turned up on their doorstep in Pripyat having sensed their every move all the way from Minsk. And besides, he has nothing else to give her anyway. "I don't know." 

Her lip wobbles at that. Her fierce, bright eyes the color of the foam on the Black Sea brim and shine as they follow the tail lights of the departing car.

Boris decides that can't stand seeing her like this, and furthermore, he doesn't want her to make a scene. Everyone's going to be suspicious enough as it is without her weeping like the widow that she most certainly is after a fashion. They're both widowed in a way. 

"Come on." He says tenderly, opening the door to the back of the car. _Not here._ he says with his storm-gray eyes and a hand pressed to the small of her back, lingering there only briefly so their driver does not see.

They are carried by car from Chernobyl to Kiev, and then from there they take an overnight train to Moscow, in the watchful company of a modest fleet of KGB agents of course. Ulana is silent all the while, and Boris too, until they reach the station in Moscow and they are told by their handler that they are both being escorted to yet another waiting car.

"Where are we going?" she hisses, hoping the noise in the station will cover the question.

"The Kremlin I'd wager." Boris answers, not bothering to keep his voice down and adopting a rather business-like if not down right dismissive tone. "After Comrade Legasov's stunt at the trial, the KGB will want to speak to us."

Ulana pales at that as she scurries along next to him, taking two steps to his one.

"Don't worry. We've nothing to be afraid of." He says, taking advantage of a sharp turn to touch her elbow unseen. _Let me do the talking,_ his expression says. _I'll keep us out of trouble._

Her breath escapes her, pressurized with anxiety. But she nods, squaring her narrow shoulders as they head for the street.

The Kremlin is an imposing place on the best of days and under the best of circumstances, but when one knows they have a date with the KGB, it's downright forbidding. Even to Boris, who's grown used to the hulking, overwrought place by this point in his career, it's still a place that balances awe and fear across the edge of a knife. Under the wrong circumstances, which these very much are, the white on white interiors shot through with strategic accents of blood red can be terrifying. 

Exactly as intended.

They are led swiftly to one of the many conference rooms, and find that inside is none other than Chairman Charkov himself, wearing his usual placid, unimpressed expression that hugs the border between patronising and bored. Boris finds himself rather wildly wondering if it is frozen in place from overuse in interrogations.

"Good day, Comrade Chairman." Boris greets formally to cover the shock.

"Good day, Comrade Shcherbina. And, Comrade Ulana Khomyuk? I don't believe we've had the pleasure. Though I've heard so much about you." He smiles and holds out his hand to her as if shaking his hand is the most benign act in the world.

Ulana visibly hesitates before she takes it, looks nauseous when she does, and by some heroic feat of will, doesn't wipe her hand on her dress when she withdraws it. Boris doesn't blame her for her reaction. Not after what she's seen of the KGB. She claimed that they never laid a hand on her, but Boris knows that they can do far worse than physical harm. And she never talked about what happened to her while she was in lockup. Never. Not even to Valery as far as he knew…

Valery...

"I suppose there's no point in further pleasantries." Charkov continues in his infuriatingly unaffected voice. "It's not as if you don't know why I called you here. Please, have a seat."

They do, and he does not. Charkov remains on his feet, calmly and cooly pacing the room and not looking at either of them as he speaks. Rather, he stares off at the portraits and the crown moulding over their heads. All of it is part of the design of course, just like the decor of the Kremlin itself. Meant to make them feel small. Talked down to. Unimportant and easily dismissed, either by the wave of a hand or the firing of a bullet.

"Your colleague, Comrade Legasov claims the two of you had no prior knowledge of his plans for his testimony." Charkov says.

"That is correct, Comrade Chairman." Boris replies. Ulana opts to merely nod.

Charkov's beady reptilian eyes flick between them briefly. "And yet I find it interesting that you, Boris, insisted… nay, interrupted a trial by the State, so that he might conclude his testimony with his slander of the Soviet Union." He blandly purses his lips as if he were chastising children for breaking a window or stealing from the neighbor's garden. 

Boris doesn't answer that. He feels Ulana's eyes on him, keenly intending to follow his lead. _I'm waiting for him to ask an actual question._ He wants to tell her this, but he hopes his silence is message enough. _Keeps me from talking myself into a corner._

When neither of them take the bait Charkov blandly shrugs. "Ultimately, it's of no consequence whether Comrade Legasov was telling the truth about you two, or whether he was lying," he goes on, resuming his pacing. "The outcome is the same given his other actions. He will be stripped of his duties at the Kurchatov Institute. He will be stricken from the record of events in Chernobyl, and his influence credited to other people."

Boris feels Ulana bristling next to him and, while he's never been a religious man, he prays at that moment to something. To anything that she can bite her tongue in two until this is over. They can't help him. At least not right now. Not from here. And certainly not by mouthing off to the Deputy Chairman of the KGB.

"You will have no contact with him." Charkov continues as if he can't hear their teeth grinding. "Comrade Shcherbina, you know that usually under these circumstances, there would be rather swift and unquestionable outcomes for the associates of someone like Legasov, such as yourselves. Perhaps I'm getting soft in my old age, but honestly I think I'm just getting more practical. You're all dying. I'd rather not waste the bullets." 

"Then what is to be our punishment?" Ulana asks with cold and defiant primness.

Boris nearly breaks a tooth trying to bite back a noise of complaint.

_Shit._

Charkov actually smiles then, though it seems to be more an eager baring of predatory teeth. Pleased that at last he'd antagonized a reaction from one of them. He'd been lying in wait for it. "You don't think this is sufficient?" he asks, a cruel sort of pleasure glinting in his eyes from behind his thick glasses. "No, your lives will continue uninterrupted for as long as you have them. Everything will go back to the way it was before you were uprooted from your lives by your duties to the State. You'll go back to your institute in Minsk, Comrade Khomyuk, and Comrade Shcherbina will continue his work here at the Kremlin. And neither of you will ever speak to Valery Legasov again. You'll never speak _about_ him again, if you know what's good for you. Not to each other. Not to anyone else. He is no longer a part of your lives. And he is no longer part of the story of Chernobyl."

Ulana opens her mouth again and Boris grabs her fingers under the table, forcing her to swallow her statement. 

But for a man like Charkov, the question is as good as asked. "If you do not comply," he says, his tone turning icy. "I'll have Legasov brought here to the Kremlin, and I'll force the actual truth out of him. And then I'll have him shot. His death won't serve any purpose. I won't really have any use for the information and it will be a mess to clean up in the public eye. So please don't make me do it."

Ulana merely gapes, silent and stunned as surely as if Charkov had slapped her across the face.

"We understand, Comrade Chairman Charkov." Boris says, before Ulana can make a sound.

The smile returns then, snakelike and wicked. And yet somehow still dismissive. As if he's seen suffering like theirs a thousand times and had grown unaccountably bored of it. "No, I don't think you do yet." he says, fiddling absently with a button on his sleeve. "But you will. In time. You'll think at first you're doing him a favor by staying away, but time and loneliness will wear you down. Don't think my agents in Chernobyl were blind to your… philandering. It was merely not a priority to pursue at the time. But we knew. And because of that, I know that you'll miss him not only as one misses any comrade of war, but also because he was your lover. Both of you. I know that the two of you will feel the lack of him like a phantom limb. And you will feel that pain for the rest of your shortened days. 

"And then... maybe in a week. Maybe in a month. Maybe years down the line, if indeed you live that long, thoughts of defiance will cross your mind. And perhaps plans even more desperate, such as sedition or defection, but you won't pursue any of them because you know Valery Legasov's life is what hangs in the balance should those plans come to ruin. And besides, he was the only brave soul among you, so those traitorous thoughts will only add to the cancerous rot that will accumulate until your shared condition claims you both." He cocks his head then, his expression gone cold and treacherous once again. "Is that sufficient punishment, Comrade Khomyuk?"

The pronouncement is gentle in its concussive violence. It's a flat statement. A prescription and a prophecy all rolled into one. And it does its job. It stuns her into silence once more before she manages to swallow audibly. What else can she say? "Yes, Comrade Chairman." she replies, her voice shaking like a leaf in late autumn.

"Very well." Charkov says, his icy demeanor vanishing like late spring snow. That damnably benign and blasé air is back. "You are dismissed. Outside you'll find cars willing to take you wherever you need to go." Then he flashes them a politician's smile, and for a brief second he seems nauseatingly affable. "Good day, Comrades."

There are murmurs of departure and chair legs scrape on the hardwood as Ulana and Boris beat a hasty retreat from the conference room and out the front door of the Kremlin. The sun is hot on their faces, but they crave and welcome the heat and humidity after the oppressive, artificial atmosphere of the white-washed rooms in the Kremlin. 

True to his word, Charkov has two cars waiting for them. Ulana stands there on the steps, indecisively shifting her weight foot to foot. _Anywhere she wants to go? She doesn't want to go anywhere… but..._

She feels Boris pull on her elbow. "Come on." He says, and he leads her down to the sidewalk, past the pair of slick, black cars, and off into the bowels of Moscow.

"Where are we going?" She asks when they are finally out of earshot of their handlers and the Kremlin. 

"Just another block or so. There's a cafe with the best sushki in the whole Soviet Union. The ones I had brought to us back in Pripyat." He tells her with a frail shell of a smile. "I tend to frequent them when I've had a rough day at work."

Ulana can't hold back a derisive snort. "This was a bad day at work?"

"No, Ulana. It's the worst day of my life, truth be told. And the last year and a half of my life has made that a difficult thing to say. So I want some time, and something sweet, and just…" He sighs heavily and pulls her to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk. "If you need to get back to Minsk..."

"No." She says quickly, her voice gone soft. She looks somewhat chastised as she hooks her hand on the bend of his elbow. "Lead the way."

And she smiles. Or she tries to anyway. In spite of it all, she manages a ghost of a smile and it infects him too. And they walk to the cafe, arm in arm.

***

**April 27, 1986**

"We will have to take this to the Kremlin." Shcherbina said, hands stuffed into his pockets as he paced the length of the map-strewn work table.

"Why?" Legasov asked.

"Why?" Shcherbina parroted, more than a little aghast. "You're essentially asking to kill three people, Comrade Legasov."

"I know, but many more will die if-"

"It's still purposefully killing three people. Even I don't get to make those kinds of decisions. No one does outside of the military in times of war."

Legasov leaned back in his chair with a sigh. Maybe there could be another way… some way to... But then again, this _was_ war. That's what this was going to be in the end. He'd known it as soon as he'd read Shcherbina's report. And the deaths would not stop at three… and furthermore, they were going to be culpable for all of them. Every single one.

He was a scientist. This was not something he was meant to be doing.

His eyes met Khomyuk's and he could see his own thoughts reflected there, but unlike him she wasn't flinching. She was made of iron, this woman, and she knew there simply wasn't any other way. Now that he thought about it, she'd probably figured that out on her drive from Minsk. She'd come prepared to suggest such a sacrifice. And she was clearly the smartest person in the room, at least when it came to engineering.

"Where's the phone?" Legasov asked, sitting forward and scrubbing one hand over the nape of his neck.

Shcherbina answered the request with a shake of his head, waving for Legasov to keep his seat. "It's alright. I'll do it."

"Boris." He knew that he shouldn't use it, but he could say so much with just his name.

And Shcherbina clearly heard it. His stern face softened for a second. No less sad. No less haggard. But somehow lighter. "No, it's alright. Just… It's my responsibility to get you what you need."

"But…"

Shcherbina cut him off with another wave of his hand as he scooped up the phone from its cradle. Legasov deflated, but he never took his eyes off Scherbina, something like concern pinching his brow.

Khomyuk watched the exchange curiously. These two had barely been here 48 hours and yet… perhaps they knew each other before all this. But she doubted it.

"What can I-" Legasov started.

"You can help me by explaining why again." Shcherbina cut him off as gently as he was able. "I'll have an easier time with this if I can give them facts. A walk-through of the problem. The more complete the information I give them, the better our chances of a quick yes."

Legasov nodded, reaching for his cigarettes. "Comrade Khomyuk? You figured it out. Walk us through it again, please?"

_Yes… tell them again how they're going to have to sacrifice lives,_ she thought. _More lives. And this is, no doubt, just the beginning._ Thankfully, both men seemed to know that. They both looked exhausted and worn, and she suddenly felt unaccountably guilty. Not for telling the truth, but for what it was doing to them. To Comrade Shcherbina in particular. This was not the first hard call he'd had to make, and she could tell that she was not the first harbinger of bad news they'd received. In fact, she'd found herself strangely welcomed into their circle with open arms.

Explaining herself is the least she can do. The literal least.

So she took a deep breath and began to lay out the situation and her proposed plan once again. She hovered over the blueprints, pointing and explaining in the best and most simplistic detail she could give. And she noted all the while that Shcherbina lingered close to Legasov now… like a parent. Or a lover. 

Legasov, for his short stature and rather cramped posture, cast a long shadow.

~~~

The requisite calls were made and their proposal was accepted with astonishing ease by the Kremlin, so preparations and planning could proceed immediately. Shcherbina called General Pikalov to let him know that they'd been given permission to go ahead with the plan to open the sluice gates. But it was obvious that the Central Committee didn't quite understand the gravity of the situation, since Gorbachev had still insisted that the three of them come to Moscow the following day to detail the next phase of their plan. He would give permission in writing then.

Besides, it was necessary, after all, for the team in Chernobyl to tell them, in person and on public record, why the Soviet Union must kill three people. As strictures on something like that went, Ulana felt it too lenient and too strict, all at once. Time was of the essence, but should anyone ever be in a rush to sacrifice lives?

But there was no other way. It was three lives or millions, and roughly 48 hours to decide. How was that even a decision? And yet it had to be a decision. They had to decide… three people for millions. It was not the sort of math Khomyuk was used to doing and the same clearly could be said of Legasov.

_Boris Shcherbina is good at this,_ she noted to herself as she listened to his half of the phone call to the Kremlin. He knew how to get what he needed, though it shouldn't have come as a surprise. Everyone who ever excelled at politics had this ability, though she'd never seen it brought to bear for something so… selfless. Not like this. Not the way Shcherbina did it. He wielded his clout and prestige with a swordsman's expertise.

And at Professor Legasov's request. She couldn't fail to notice that.

The way they'd looked at each other… Surely they must've known one another before now.

When it was done, Shcherbina let the phone fall into the cradle with a louder-than-necessary thud. "Come with me. I have something for us back at the work site."

"I'm tired." Legasov complained as he snuffed out another cigarette. The third in the amount of time Ulana had known him. She hadn't smoked since her assistantship years, but suddenly she just wanted to stand in the mantle of smoke that surrounded the man. Stand close and breathe it in...

She was tired too, it seemed...

"So am I," Boris replied, swinging his greatcoat about his massive shoulders. "But I have something for us back at the trailer. I was saving it for lunch tomorrow, but I think we should have it now since we'll be on a train in the morning. And it would be a good way to welcome Comrade Khomyuk and show her where she'll be working." He turned to her as she was gathering her things. "Or were you planning to do the smart thing and go back to Minsk?"

That drew an amused if not somewhat affronted smile from her. "Did you think I came all this way to give you bad news and then trot off to my lab again, Comrade."

"You could." Legasov responded rather seriously. "It's dangerous here."

"You're here." she replied with a quick little incline of her head.

"We don't really have a choice, Comrade Khomyuk." Shcherbina retorted, his tone gentled slightly at her resolve.

"Ulana." she said, seeing as Shcherbina clearly enjoyed chewing on the sharp edges of her name when it suited his mood. "And I feel that I can't propose a plan to avert disaster that costs human lives if I wouldn't be willing to risk my own. So I'll stay."

"You of all people would understand the risk." Legasov said with a considering twist of his head.

"Correct."

The two men regarded her with hard, tired eyes, but ultimately the professor nodded to himself. Alright then. He looked to Shcherbina, his trademark utterly humorless and barely-there smirk pulling at the corner of his thin mouth. "Well. Let's go then."

What Comrade Shcherbina had stashed in his work trailer was a pastel pink box of sushki. Little rings of dough, boiled and baked and topped with poppy seeds. 

"They might be a little stale. They arrived this morning with my things. There's a bakery down a few blocks from the Kremlin and I had my secretary swing by." he explained holding out the box of pastries for his frankly astounded colleagues. "I always treat myself when it's been a rough day at work."

"I suppose that's an understatement." Legasov said, blinking in surprise before picking out a few for himself as Ulana did likewise.

"It wouldn't be for some at the Kremlin." he opined.

"Not you?" Legasov asked.

Ulana was a little taken aback at the baldness of the question, but Shcherbina seemed unperturbed by it. 

"Not me. I've… outlined some plans that had acceptable risks. Especially during times of war. And… well, mining accidents are a regrettable but common occurrence in the coal industry. But to flatly ask to kill three people? No. This is a first for me." he said, popping one of the sushki into his mouth whole.

"A first for all three of us then, I would imagine." Legasov opined, biting into his own pastry rather absently, but as the taste registers on his tongue he frowns in obvious appreciation. "These are really good, Boris."

"Agreed." Ulana replied, failing to hide her delighted if bewildered smile. "How in the hell did you get a box of pastries delivered to a nuclear disaster site all the way from Moscow?"

Comrade Shcherbina smiled then. He really smiled, the filmy light catching in his slate grey eyes. And both Valery and Ulana were enchanted by the rare sight. He looked proud. He looked confident. And Valery, not for the first time, felt better for having him there, rough and stubborn as he was. If he could get pastries delivered to an evacuated town in the shadow of a nuclear disaster, he could probably do anything.

"Well, Comrades, it's simple." Boris said with a proud smile. "I'm a politician, and I have been for over forty years. And you don't survive as long as I have, or have a place in the Kremlin if you're not good at getting what you want when you want it."

They all laughed then. Just a little and quietly, but it was there. A strange sound in the quiet of the empty work site. A stolen bit of brightness. A luxury, like the pastries.

Boris stashed the box in its hiding place again once they'd eaten their fill, and led them out of the trailer. Valery and Boris went first and then Ulana followed. She stumbled before she reached the ground, the heel of her shoe hanging on the lip of the stair. Reflexively, her hand flew out and Boris was there, elbow at the ready to steady her on her feet. 

She looked out over the work site and felt as if her heart were suddenly being wrung like a dishrag. It was as if the shock of such a close call had lifted a veil and she was looking at her surroundings clearly for the first time since she'd arrived. She looked out at the dim outline of the mortally wounded hulk of Reactor 4, billowing smoke even darker than the night sky beyond. At the quiet trailers and the distant empty buildings. All silent. All silenced as the radiation seeped out and into the world. The iodine and the caesium that had infiltrated her lab. She was watching now as it roared up into the air to come down on who knew how many people. Even if they did their best, it was too late for so many people...

Until that moment, that instant of seething gravity-induced panic, it had all been blueprints and math. Her mind had its teeth in the problem from the beginning, but her heart was here now. And that was how she found herself frozen and dumbstruck, as if she only just now seemed to know where she was. It was as if the radiation had stolen her voice too along with the rest of Pripyat's. The pinch of her brow and the cessation of her breathing, if only for a moment, confirmed it. And then as she straightened and forced a gasp of air into her lungs, she looked up at Boris with those bright vulnerable sea-green eyes. He stared evenly back down at her with a look of… not pity. But a kind of miserable concern. 

It was the first time they'd communicated without words, but they had a knack for it, it seemed. And Valery too. Right from the very start.

_It's that bad? It's that… uncontained?_

_ Yes._

_Did I make a mistake in coming here?_

_Only if you fear death… but it won't come for awhile, so I'm told._

Her thin lips pressed until they disappeared for a moment. _Then we won't face any of this alone._ she found herself thinking.

No, not just thinking. Promising.

Her hand tightened on his elbow then, and she didn't let go until they were all the way back at the hotel. And Valery followed close on their heels, well within arm's reach but lagging behind, trailing smoke from yet another cigarette.

***

"I should head back to Minsk." Ulana says, blowing delicately on her tea as she watches the people hustle by on the sidewalk.

"In the morning." Boris says. On the surface it's an almost dismissive command, but beneath that there's an unspoken plea threaded through it. _Stay._

"You don't think they'll be suspicious if I stay?"

Boris just gives her a flat look. A desperate look. It hangs on his usually stern features like an ill fitting suit. _They already know. Don't you leave me here alone like this. One night… please…_

"Of course," she says. And she resists the urge to take his hand where it lies so invitingly bereft on the table.

They finish their tea in silence after that. Nothing left to say. Nothing fit for open air or daylight anyway. Grief in the Soviet Union is kept private. Especially strange, malformed grief like this, which shouldn't exist in the Soviet Union at all.

Boris's apartment is as sterile and empty as would be expected from someone married to their work. It hadn't dawned on Ulana until this very moment, but it's the first time she's ever seen his home. Or what passed for it. She'd been to Valery's apartment… papers and books everywhere and his spoiled little cat twining around her ankles. But she's never seen Boris's home. She moves to remark on it, but as soon as they're in the door, Boris's finger is over his lips and then pointing to his ears. 

Ah. Of course. This old chestnut. Ears everywhere. Even now she has to be careful what she says. Probably. They will always have to be careful of what they say...

Because _they_ will always be listening.

"I suppose we should have stopped at the store." Boris says softly. "I haven't been back here in a week and I likely don't have anything for dinner."

Ulana shakes her head. "Don't worry about it. I honestly don't know if I could eat anyway."

"Me neither, so you'll be spared my cooking." Boris says with a mirthless smile on his lips, heading towards the kitchen anyway. "But I can drink." He retrieves a bottle of vodka and two glasses, and heads for the sitting room with its expansive picture window. Ulana follows after him.

The view is impressive, Ulana has to admit. She's never seen Moscow from a perch quite like this. The bands of lights stretch out beneath them like dots of dew on a spider's web, and near the center stands the Kremlin, a pitch-dark spire in the gathering nightfall. She's never been one to be easily stirred to patriotism, but neither has she ever felt outright malice or derision for the State. She'd never imagined that the sight of the seat of Soviet supremacy could tap such a frighteningly deep well of black and noxious hatred in her heart.

Boris strips out of his suit coat before joining her at the window and proceeding to pour for both of them. They drink. Then drink again. And now they stand together, silhouetted against the skyline and the murky sunset, cradling their third round and slowly listing towards one another as if the vodka had dissolved whatever anchors kept them moored apart. Closer and closer they drift, until Ulana is tucked tightly against Boris' side. Then she downs her shot and turns, burying her face in the soft cotton of his shirt.

There is a space between them. Not a physical one. They are pressed together from knee to chest, and Ulana's face is hidden in the folds of his clothes. But there is a space.

A space shaped like a scientist. One who wore his too large glasses and untailored suit with a self-conscious slouch. With a cigarette in his hand, and a scattering of freckles on his cheeks that invited kisses the way the sand on the shore invites the ocean's waves.

"Borja" she moans his name softly into his broad chest. She thinks for a moment tears might come but none do. She's beyond that. Her face just feels hot and her stomach twists sourly around the vodka. She can't even properly cry. She cannot do anything but hide from the swelling shape of her guilt and her grief.

He drinks as well, setting their glasses aside before he gathers her to him. He actually has to stoop to set his chin on top of her hair.

"I know, Ulya." He whispers into the shadows of the room. "I know."

"I just keep thinking… they brought him back to Moscow. They must have." she whispers, muffling the words in his clothes so that the bugs won't hear. "He's here, Borja! It's worse having him so close."

"Would you rather have him sent to Siberia with Dyatlov and the others?" he asks, not the first barb in his voice. The question is gentle with his nose and lips pressed into the part of her hair.

She shakes her head. "No, of course not, Boris."

His arms tighten around her. "I'm sorry you were brought into this."

She lets out a cough of weepy laughter. "Now you try to be noble, Borja?" She looks up at him red faced and red eyed but smiling in spite of herself. "I showed up on your doorstep, remember? Got myself arrested to get to you in Pripyat with the information I had. And then I stayed."

"I could have sent you away." he says, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear.

"No, you couldn't have. You needed me. You knew Valery needed me."

"If I had known…"

"Bah, if we had only known." she parrots disdainfully as she wipes at her eyes. She's still not crying, but they itch. "Isn't that what got us in trouble in the first place? The right people didn't know. Or didn't care to know. But we did know and we did care. That's what Valery was trying to tell everyone. We just didn't want to look. None of us did. Even when I was running the numbers back in Minsk. I didn't even think… I called Chernobyl because they might know something, not because I thought... not because I thought it was the source of the radiation. Who on Earth would think that?"

"But him."

"But him." she echoes, dropping her face against his chest and inhaling. He likewise presses his nose into her hair again, drawing the scent into his ailing lungs like incense.

They drift together through the mingling shadows and their joined gloom. There were no more tears. They would do no good here. There was no washing away this grief or this guilt. No excising it or drowning it. Only time would tell if they could all heal from it.

If they could heal from it by themselves.

"Are you sure I should stay tonight, Boris?" Ulana looks up at him, eyes asking the real question. _With them listening?_

He just nods, pulling her close again and squeezing her against his broad chest so tightly that she could scarcely draw breath. She almost doesn't want to. Every breath hurt. Every breath without Valery with them _hurt,_ and that pain would never end. She knows it. And it made sense that she should feel the pain of Boris' affection in her bones as well.

"Take me to bed, Borja." She whispers against his shirt.

And he does. Bridal carry and all. She hadn't expected that, but then Boris could be indulgently romantic in the most unexpected ways and the most unexpected times. Back in Chernobyl, he'd always been quick with a treat for her, once he'd learned that her sweet tooth matched his. A cigarette for Valery. The French ones. How he got them, she'd never know, and like a magician he seemed to enjoy keeping his secrets. And Boris always had a smile for both of them. His real smile. The one that softened his face and chased the heavy clouds from his thunderous brow. Always, when no one else was looking, she'd catch him watching Valery. Or even watching her, and there would be that smile.

Her romantic Borja. 

_Their_ romantic Borja.

They would always be each other's. Even from far away.

Or not so very far away, which felt even farther.

He kneels as gracefully as his old frame will allow, and deposits her at the edge of the mattress before sinking to the floor. He removes her shoes, and then slides his hands up her legs, the pleats of her skirt flattening over his corded forearms. She spreads her knees to draw him closer, sinking her hands into his hair and drawing his mouth to hers.

She suddenly realized she couldn't remember the last time they had kissed. Had it been during their preparation for Vienna? Had it been that long? They hadn't had any time together before the trial. None alone anyway. The last time they were all three together and there were eyes everywhere. She hadn't even thought about it at the time. It was as if she'd been a different person… they were all different people when other eyes were on them. All thoughts of togetherness buried deep until they could be alone again. No wonder she'd been jealous of the two of them stealing a moment together outside when the court had been in recess. Though she didn't grudge them that reprieve now. She only wished that she'd gotten one… Just a moment with him before...

God, it had been too long. Boris was so warm, vodka still hot on his breath. And under that, the taste of tea and sweets. It was always how he tasted. Just like Valery always tasted of cigarettes…

Valery…

_Valera…_

It's then that the tears finally come, burning her eyes as he licks into her mouth. Of course it would be now. She moans against Boris' lips, prompting him to open his mouth to swallow her despair whole. He rucks her skirt up further, hooking his fingers into her underwear and dragging them down her legs.

"Borja…" His name is little more than a ghost floating across her lips. She doesn't dare be any louder. Not with them listening. Even though they know… 

_They shouldn't know,_ she thinks bitterly. Not about this. She isn't reserved out of any sense of propriety. Not out of any sense of shame or modesty, but because they shouldn't know about something this good. They shouldn't _have_ any one as good as her Borja.

_Their_ Borja.

He's still pushing her skirt up, baring her thighs to the dark of the bedroom. Her knees fall farther apart and his thumb slides through the curly patch of hair over her pubic bone and then down… down until she curls her pelvis to catch his fingers against the entrance of her pussy. 

"There you are…" Boris whispers with a tenderness that rakes monstrous talons across her heart. "There you are, Ulya. Lie back and let me have you."

She does, tears spilling out of her eyes and onto the quilt. Her spine turns to water as she lets him hook her legs over his shoulders and lies back across the bedspread, hand still lightly carding through his silvery hair. Short as it is, it's so thick she can grab it by the handful. His mouth is on her in an instant, and he licks deep. No teasing. No testing. No hesitance. They're both too old and too familiar for such things. He licks into her like he's dying. Starving, even. He licks and sucks in all the ways and places he's learned over their time together. He had never been one for shyness or reservation.

What he wanted he got. Always. And what he wants right at this moment is her.

He coaxes her to the precipice of an orgasm in record time. Perfect pressure. Perfect application of teeth in all the right places. Perfect everything. It always was with him. Still is… 

He breaches her with one finger, curling it as he draws it from her along with a moan thin and sweet as spun sugar. She bucks twice and comes. She tries to swallow the sounds as her pleasure wells up and spills over the edge, carrying her along in its current. Her fingers tighten in his hair as he works her through it with his tongue, drinking up her pleasure until she's still again.

Boris smiles up at her then over the hem of her skirt. He looks pleased with himself. And soft. Ulana drags him to her, wrapping herself around him and kissing him deeply, tasting herself on his lips. Her hands busy themselves with his buttons. Far too many buttons. Far too much cloth between them. He's pulling at her clothes too. Unbuttoning her skirt and dragging her blouse over her head, tousling her curls into disarray. 

She has to help him with her bra, the old clasps bent and twisted with wear, but his mouth is on her as soon as it's off. She loves that he worships her as if she's still a young woman, as if he can drink from her like a fountain. He did this with Valery too she remembers… kissing his freckles as if he could eat them...

_Valera…_

That spurs her into action. She practically tears his shirt from him by way of distraction from that thought, and he's got his pants falling to the floor as well. Underwear too, and he's chasing her up onto the pillows on all fours until he can collapse between her thighs. 

"Ulya…" he growls the endearing name against her pulse. 

She buries her face in the join of his shoulder and neck, kissing him and drawing him to her until hardly any space remains between them. She drags one foot up the back of his thigh, pulling him closer to feel the head of his cock nudge against her pussy. He needs no further encouragement and he sinks home, making both of them gasp.

"Ulya…" He moans again, frozen for a moment as pleasure fogs his brain like cloying, clinging mist. For a moment, there's only the sound of shallow breathing, and of skin slipping over skin, and then his hips began to stutter into motion.

Boris fucks her exactly like he politicks. Unyielding. Uncompromising. And with undiluted purpose. What he wants, he gets. And not only that, what he wants is _given_ to him. Which is everything. And she does give him everything, with sighs and buried whimpering. To have that brute attention turned on her makes Ulana melt against the pillows. She clamps her teeth together and tries desperately to swallow every sound that escapes her. 

They can't hear… they _mustn't_ hear…

But she feels his strong fingers cupping her jaw, his thumb slipping over her lip which she realizes she's biting nearly bloody. She looks at him, wild eyed and flushed, her teeth snapping together to bite back the small sounds welling from her throat. 

"Let them hear you." he whispers roughly. "They know. Let them know what they've done if they're so inclined to listen."

She can't hold it back then. She cries out on the next thrust, finding her voice in short bursts timed with the pistoning of his hips. He kisses her knotted jaw. Then the pulse of her throat. And finally her mouth, eating up the sounds that spill from her swollen lips like honey. 

It's fast. And rough. And more than a little crude.

But it's theirs. And it's _them._ As it always was. As it should _always_ be.

But...

Boris finds her clit with his fingers as his hips start to stutter and lose rhythm. "Ulya…" he groans again, her name cracked clean in half across his tongue and she cries out in response. Her nails bite into his back and his teeth into her shoulder. She tightens around him and they come together, everything turning slick and filthy and wonderful as their thrusting slows and grows shallower and shallower.

So wonderful, this togetherness… as long as it lasts. 

He slips out of her and falls to his side, his great chest heaving. "Are you alright, darling?" he asks, eyes glassy in the dark. 

Ulana rolls to him, tucking her body against his side. "Fine, Borja." She says, patting his cheek. "Perfectly fine."

She always has to reassure him. He's afraid of losing himself. Afraid of hurting her. And that fear wears him like a bad suit. She would soothe it if she could, but how can she? She's frightened herself, though of different things. Of deeper hurts…

Deeper hurts like the fact that she'd never passed a single night in Boris's bed before tonight... And their Valera isn't not there. It feels like heresy.

But despite all that, their sleep is untroubled, and the morning comes too quickly. Ulana lingers in his kitchen through two cups of tea, until she's nearly late for the first train to Minsk. Though he had seemed happy enough to have her miss the first train. But she knows she can't. Responsibilities await. Her old life awaits as does his. The same lives, but different people to live them now.

"Can I still write to you, Borja?" she asks from the door frame. "Even though we can't…" she doesn't say it. She's not ready to say it. She might never be ready to say it.

"Of course, Ulya. Just… know that they'll read it." No point in pretending they aren't listening, but no point in pretending they don't know that they are listening either.

She nods, shouldering her bag and smoothing the hem of her skirt. She's dressed but he's still in his underwear and undershirt. It feels wonderfully unbalanced… and unfamiliar. It was never like this back in Pripyat. Everyone parted ways fully clothed always. This was new… strange and lovely, and she wishes she didn't have to leave.

But the Soviet Union calls. As it always does.

And so she goes. 

As she must.

***


	2. The Stubborn Impossible Ukrainian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Professor Legasov,” Boris chewed pointedly on the choice of title, earning him another more lingering and quizzical look. He let the formal appellation hang in the air a moment as he stood and refilled both their glasses. “You talked about ionization of the air when you pointed out the glow we saw from the helicopter. But Bryukhanov claimed that it was the Cherenkov Effect causing that glow, which you say is erroneous information that came from Dyatlov. I know what neither of these things are, much less the difference between them, and clearly I should understand it because if I had, I too would have known the reactor was blown open on sight, even if I didn’t recognize the graphite in the rubble. So.” He paused for a drink. “What causes the Cherenkov Effect? What do you mean when you say the air is being ionized? And why is it one and not the other?”
> 
> Valery slowly turned to look at him, sipping at his vodka as he did so. He didn’t smile exactly, but it appeared to Boris that he, perhaps, frowned a little less as he addressed him. “Comrade Deputy Chairman Shcherbina,“ he replied with his own puckish crispness. "That is three questions. Which would you like me to answer first?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday all! I hope your week is off to a good start. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for coming back for more. This chapter is largely a shout out to the Valoris fans. It's also the longest chapter in the series as there's a lot of plot and theme that get set up here. So strap in!
> 
> Thank you to my beta readers Lucas and @kaminaduck. I so appreciate your help with this mammoth project.
> 
> And a huge HUGE thank you to my science advisor @cactusowl. There is a sizable chuck of very thematic science in this chapter and I could not have made it happen without his help. He pretty much was my Valery Legasov in this chapter... I think I had him talk me through "the lecture" at least three times, not to mention full on write big chunks of it for me to narrativize later. If you want to bother him with sciencey questions (and he's also a huge narrative arts nerd) you can find him at @cactusowl on Tumblr!
> 
> Also speaking of questions, if you'd like to know more about my writing and creative process, pop over to my Tumblr @littlethingwithfeathers. I do regular writing updates and I've been asked to do a sort of... director's commentary on this fic so I'll be posting that there as well.
> 
> Cheers everyone! Thanks for all the wonderful feedback. Keep the comments coming! I do so love to interact with my readers. See you next week!

***

**August 26, 1987**

Charkov had been right. 

The first month had been easy. Well, relatively speaking at least. A lulling monotony of days that bled into weeks. All comfortably similar, and yet it's altogether not unlike the experiment with the frog and pot of cold water. And Boris isn't sure if he's just imagining that the temperature is rising or if… well...

Boris sits at his desk as he has each work day for weeks, and he realizes he's slowly becoming aware of how drained of meaning it all is. Every morning it's a little harder to get up and drag himself to his office to which he'd once strode so dutifully and proudly. A Kremlin official! It had meant something… 

And then there was the nagging cough. It was getting no better, but it was getting no worse either. His doctors could tell him nothing of course. A year… a year… a year… maybe? Who knew? But it nagged at him like everything else. Irritating. Inconvenient. And exhaustingly pointless.

He had been wrong when he'd declared himself inconsequential to Valery during the trial. And Valery had been right, as he always and infuriatingly was. Boris hadn't been inconsequential at Chernobyl.

But he was inconsequential now. 

Just frittering away the hours, signing meaningless papers, and going to meetings that were essentially just the dispensation of marching orders. Verdicts handed down from the powers above to be overseen by the reputedly bullish Deputy Chairman. No conversation. No communal decision making or discussion of ideas. Just orders and their execution. Boris didn't understand why he'd ever enjoyed such a system, though it was clear why he excelled at it. It was the same reason he'd found such success in the army during the Winter War. Because there were things about it that he did like.

He did like orders. He did like rigor. And he liked _having something to do._

And it wasn't that he didn't have duties in the Kremlin anymore. He was as busy as ever, but he consistently felt as if he was busy doing _nothing._ All of it rote process. Nothing he hadn't seen before over and over again. Same vacant forms and faces. No clever thinking or problem solving. Everything was prescribed from somewhere far above his head. He need only listen to his orders and carry them out, or see that others carried them out. All as efficiently and as Sovietly as possible.

He missed it being Valery Legasov that he had to listen to, with his patient, even generous explanations. He'd get the order of his explanations wrong, of course. Not the facts, but the method of dispensing them. Too much arcane detail at the start. Too much correcting and fussing over nuance not immediately applicable to the task at hand. It was hard to get the professor-ishness out of that man, though it was no less difficult to beat back the overbearing bureaucrat in Boris. 

The professor and the politician had clashed so many times in Chernobyl. Like forces of nature, both of them. But never to the point of true anger. Never to the point of catastrophe. Exacerbation? Sure. All the time. But never to the point of impasse. Valery could always explain to him how he was wrong, and Boris had always accepted it in exchange for his own advice about procedure and politicking, because Valery had given him a gift he’d never had in all his time in Soviet service. Something he hadn't even really known that he lacked, thanks to years of military rigor and his decades inside the Party.

Valery Legasov had given him the gift of “why.”

Why did something need to be a certain way? Why couldn't the simpler solution work? Why did it have to be that much material?

_Why_.

He'd been allowed to ask "why?" for the first time in his adult life. And was allowed not just an answer but a generous, patient, and sometimes excited answer.

And Boris accepted Valery's admonishments and answers because he was the first man Boris had ever heard tell Mikhail fucking Gorbachev "no" and not ended up with a bullet for a third eye. It had been shocking at the time. Galling even. Every mouth in the room had been agape when it happened. But Boris smiled when he thought back on it, even though that memory hurt now.

Any memory of Valery Legasov hurt now, so he did his best not to dwell.

With the trial now a full month behind him, Boris stands from his desk to pace his office. It seems so small now. Inconsequential like himself. Just a little corner of the massive bulk of the Kremlin. He has a window at least. He remembered getting this window. How he'd come stand in front of it, chest puffed out as he lorded over the streets of Moscow below which had spidered out around him like cracks in a pane of glass. Now he just stares out and morosely wonders if he can see Valery's apartment from here, tucked among the rank and file of the brutalistic Soviet buildings.

He just stares, and mulls, and for some reason it's today that he sharply realizes that Charkov had been so gallingly right. This was more than punishment enough. This empty despondency is hell. Not always, of course. There are okay days where his old favorite things can still make him smile, but more and more there are black days when he hopes the cancer gets him soon. When he misses Valery and misses Ulana and misses their work together, however horrible it was. Because they were _together_ and that was all that had mattered. No… Heartbreak is a far worse way to die than coughing himself to death.

The phone rings and starts him from his melancholy.

"Yes." he answers, realizing his voice is even rougher than usual. He hasn't spoken to anyone all day. No meetings. No visitors.

_An inconsequential man…_ his own words come back to mock him. And without Valery's gentle rebuff, it's become harder and harder not to believe them.

"Comrade Ulana Khomyuk is on the phone from the Byelorusian Institute for Nuclear Energy." his secretary, Yarina, drones disinterestedly. "Shall I take a message?"

"No, put her through." He says this sharply, and he realizes his secretary probably thinks this is in anger or irritation. She's probably never heard excitement in his voice. Not like this. It's so rare these days for him to be eager or elated at anything.

He'll have to bring her something later. Something from the candy shop over on Mokhovaya by way of apology if he's startled her. 

The line clicks. He licks his lips and affects his voice for his unseen audience.

"Comrade Khomyuk." he says with pleased formality. "So good of you to call."

"Good afternoon, Comrade Shcherbina." Her voice has a strange, mechanical quality about it. She's clearly less practiced at this, so Boris can tell that she is just as pleased to hear his voice as he is to hear hers. "I trust I'm not calling at a bad time?"

"It's never a bad time to hear from you." he replies wanting to put her at ease with the warm, fawning professionalism he uses on his superiors. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I was in town this morning, giving a lecture at the Kurchatov Institute and I thought I would give you a call. Perhaps we could meet for dinner?"

He sits up a little straighter. "That would be wonderful. It's been too long."

"It has." She says stiffly. She obviously knows every word is heard by ears other than their own. "When would be good for you? And where? My evening is open. I'm catching the overnight train back to Minsk."

"I've nothing pressing here." Boris replies. "Let's meet in the theatre park across from the Bolshoi. I know a fantastic restaurant near there. Say, six o'clock?"

"That sounds wonderful. See you then."

"Good day, Comrade Khomyuk."

"Good day to you, Comrade Shcherbina." 

Boris kept to his office until he left at half past five in the evening. But this was no longer because of his melancholy, but because everyone was bound to ask why he, the usually dour Ukrainian bull, was smiling so brightly.

***

It was wonderful to see Ulana again after so many weeks, but dinner itself was a little stiff and awkward as they couldn't talk about much of anything that they really wanted to. That left just banalities and trivial things. Boris does what he usually does when talking about work. Just widely and blandly circling around speaking about anything specific, opting instead to ask Ulana about her guest lecture. Not being a professor herself, she wasn't as keen to launch into long explanations as Valery had been. She mostly talked about the students and her colleagues and so forth.

It wasn't until they finished eating and headed back to the park that they could talk. Really talk. Though they didn't. Not at first. They just walked round and round the paved little paths. A strange mirror of all those walks they'd taken around empty Pripyat. Only… of course, Valery was missing.

But his shadow moves between them as the man himself once had. Boris imagines he can smell the cigarette smoke trailing behind them...

"Did you see him?" Boris finally asks, not even willing to breathe his name here. It was a needless risk. She would know who he was asking about.

She shakes her head. "No. I… I even looked for him in the audience. I didn't want to, but I just couldn't help it. I could practically feel him there. He was somewhere in the building, I'm almost certain of it, and…" She huffs out a harsh sigh. "It doesn't matter. I guess I had hoped… I actually took the lecture offer because I had hoped he might look in. Just for a moment? Let me see him…"

It's Boris's turn to shake his head. "He wouldn't risk it. Not if it was your neck, which they probably made him think it would be."

There's a disappointed pull of her mouth. "I know." 

"Still… it's amazing you didn't see him. Even just by accident.”

She stares down at her feet as they move over the rough sidewalk. "It was torture."

"I can't imagine."

"Have you seen him, Boris?"

"No. Not the first glimpse." he answers, eyes on the pavement.

They don't talk about Valery any more after that. It's too hard. Especially with him so damnably close and yet just far enough out of reach that they feel the instability of his absence all the more cleanly and clearly.

Well. They don't talk about him directly, anyway.

"Tell me about your lecture." Boris says just for the sake of something to talk about.

She shrugs. "Not much to tell beyond what I said at dinner. Most of the students were only there at the insistence of their mentors. A lot of them-"

"No, I mean… what was it about?"

A wry grin tugs at her thin lips. "It's boring stuff, Borja."

"So bore me." he says, affectionately and covertly bumping his knuckles against hers. "What did you give a talk about?"

She unwillingly gives a small laugh then. "Alright then, Borja. Alright." she says, an edge of good natured challenge in her voice. "It was a talk on minor actinide stability and prediction of decay channels back to the neutron dripline for transuranic isotopes."

Boris just blinks at her slowly.

And finally, she smiles. The first real smile he'd seen from her that day. "The short version is that it's a side of nuclear physics that you can neither use for building bombs nor reactors." When he still stares at her somewhat blankly she bumps him with her elbow. "See? I told you. It's boring stuff."

He reaches over and takes her hand hooking it over his elbow. "Tell me about it anyway."

Her smile softens but doesn't really fade. “Well, atoms with too large a ratio of neutrons to protons are unstable, and…”

***

**April 27, 1986**

Boris and Valery found Ulana a room in the nearly empty hotel located just down the hall from where their rooms were situated across from one another. They'd both given up rather quickly on trying to convince her to leave Pripyat. That woman's will was a thing cast out of iron, and she had quite clearly made her decision to stay before she had even arrived. Boris had been more reticent than Valery to give up, but Valery assured him that she'd known what sort of place she was coming to. And furthermore, she had quite obviously elected to dig into the problem long before either of them could have had input. There was nothing else to say or argue on the matter. She was staying and that was that.

But now, Valery lingered at Boris's door, mouthing around on words he wasn't quite sure how to say and clearly making no effort to fish out his room key. Boris was watching him out of the corner of his eye as he fiddled with his own keys, unlocking his door and pitching it open. When it was obvious that Valery was no closer to making a sound beyond his usual stammer, Boris took pity and just beckoned him inside. He wasn't sure what Valery wanted, but he certainly wasn't ready to be alone. Boris wasn't even tired yet anyway. Perhaps it was the same for Valery. The day… the week… sending men to their deaths while his own loomed closer than he'd ever imagined… it all weighed down on him like a sheet of Siberian ice.

There were a few more minutes of awkward quiet in the cloistered dark of Boris's room. He just did his best to ignore Valery's anxious fidgeting and scrambling for words, stripping out of his coat and picking around in the room's cabinet to procure a bottle of vodka and a pair of glasses. Truth be told, he was still somewhat numb from Valery's rather stunning news that they had both been given a death sentence by their government, and this was amplified greatly by the fact that less than three hours prior, Boris had quite bureaucratically procured permission from the Kremlin to kill three people. Not to send someone into somewhere dangerous. Not to send in a battalion of soldiers as a vanguard assault. But to just… kill three people outright. For the sake of the Soviet Union and the continent. To feed them like cultish sacrifices to the hungry thing in the heart of the reactor. 

No, he wasn't tired. He was exhausted and numb, and no amount of sleep would help. Truth be told, he just wanted the vodka to save him from the numbness. To heat his blood. To make him feel something besides swallowing, gray despair.

But of course, Valery had not picked up on that. In fact, discussing it was probably why he'd found himself fumbling over his words in Boris's hotel room.

"What." Boris said rather tiredly. The word was barely even a question. It was almost an order. _Spit it out, for God's sake._ It was rapidly becoming a pattern between them. Valery would hesitate and Boris would insist. Reticence and assurance. Uncertainty met with resolution. It was a dance. A reluctant, stumbling, and yet somehow still earnest dance. 

"I am sorry for the way I told you." Valery said finally, his shoulders hanging like a worn out coat on a chair-rail. "I mean… when I told you about-"

"I know what you mean." Boris replied in his usual gruff growl. He poured himself a shot and drank it in one go.

Valery's jaw tightened in clear irritation, but only with himself. "I… I don't have a strong way with words. Not like you. Not if… not if I'm not giving a lecture. I'm… I'm sorry. I just… No one seems to want to talk about it, and I don't blame them but... It's the truth. No one's facing the truth on this, and it's…" he cut himself off, his posture curling in on itself. He was botching this too. He'd wanted to salvage it somehow and he was only making it worse. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..."

"It's alright." Boris waved him off, the irritation draining out of him. "I'd rather have the bald truth of it now than find out from my doctor in however long. Besides I nearly killed us outright before we even actually arrived so..." He let the statement drift off into a nonchalant shrug rather than apologize in full for his arrogant recklessness.

"You're not afraid?" he asked, his brows knitting slightly behind the heavy rims of his glasses. "I am."

Boris stared at him for a moment, the scales behind his eyes weighing the truth against the option of lying. "Of course I'm afraid.” He said, his voice suddenly soft. “But what good does that fear do me now? Or you for that matter. We have a job to do."

Valery could only shrug in grudging agreement. “Still, I could have found a better way to tell you.”

"You did. I was just too stupid to understand what you were saying."

"Bor- I… I mean Comrade. Comrade Shcherbina... You're not stupid. I mean-" Valery said taking a slightly desperate step towards him.

Boris just waved him off again before pouring a second round for himself and one for Valery this time as well.

“I really shouldn’t.” Valery said eyeing the glass in Boris’ outstretched hand. "I'm already not sleeping well, and alcohol won't help."

“But if you're already not sleeping well, it won't hurt either. Consider it your punishment if you're so keen on apologizing.” Boris said, a slight glint coming back into his eyes as Valery took his drink. It occurred to Boris that they might've been friends under different circumstances. Equally and perpetually as irascible towards one another as they were now, but friendlier with nothing poisoning the air between them. Figuratively or otherwise. 

“This is all it takes?” He asked, more than a little contritely. "For your forgiveness I mean?"

His smile grew teeth then as he sat down on the creaky sofa. “It’s a start.”

The corner of Valery's mouth twitched and for the briefest moment he threatened to smile, but it withered before it fully flowered however. He raised the glass in a tacit toast however, before he turned to look out once more over abandoned Pripyat, sipping at it quietly.

Boris kept his seat in that stiff-backed sofa, finding he was too tired to stand or to hide his newly piqued interest in his colleague. Instead he drank his vodka and let himself unabashedly watch Valery, who seemed either unaware or unconcerned at being regarded this way.

And for a rare moment, Boris let himself see. He let himself look at this man… this scientist, and he thought about the handful of moments they'd shared together scattered over the last day and a half. In the boardroom with the committee. On the roof watching the helicopters. In this very hotel room when Valery had told him in quite bald terms that they were both going to die because they were staying here. Boris had been sitting in the same spot, and Valery had used the same the tone of voice he'd used to describe neutrons flying off of the fuel. A fact. Pure and hard. 

That in turn made him remember that night in the command tent just after they'd arrived. He remembered Valery hunched in his chair, wringing his hands and waiting on Pikalov to return, gears spinning in his ginger head so hard and so visibly that Boris was fairly certain he was going to see smoke coming out of the professor's ears any second. 

And it was then that Boris realized that Valery had been working out scenario after scenario for when Pikalov returned. He'd originally thought the man was worrying… fretting like a nervous mother over her children. But no. The man had turned into a living calculator, enumerating answers for the questions that were sure to come when Pikalov returned with what Valery already knew would be the inevitable news. 

He'd _known._ That was what baffled Boris more than anything. Valery Legasov had known what Pikalov was going to report from the dosimeter. More or less anyway. And he'd been working out answers to the questions he knew would be forthcoming. That's why the seemingly random yet pointedly specific answer of "boron and sand" had come so quickly. 

He'd known. _He'd fucking known._ He'd known sitting in that fucking meeting a thousand kilometers away in the Kremlin, sweating in front of the Central Committee in that God-awful suit. Hell, he'd probably suspected when Boris had first called him with the news, and Boris had just talked all over his questions. And what's more, Valery had _known_ and he'd tried to tell them! But no one had listened. Certainly not Boris.

The real kicker to Boris was that Valery had known what was going on in Chernobyl, but he'd come anyway. Meek as a lamb. Boris wondered idly what he would have done if Valery had slammed his hands on the table again and refused to go. 

Probably nothing, he had to admit. He hadn't even wanted the scientist along so he would have found a way to dismiss him, but Valery had agreed to come. Perhaps he'd picked up on Boris's lack of expertise. He knew he'd need him, and apparently so did Gorbachev. And they were both right. He would probably be dead in a helicopter crash caused by flying over the reactor like the idiot he was if Valery hadn't come with him and convinced the pilot to turn back. That was the truth, and Boris had never been one for lying to himself. But yet in a strange way, he cannot bring himself to regret Valery's presence. Because, while he wouldn't admit it out loud, something in him knew that he needed to meet this man. Needed him for Chernobyl yes, because this problem was beyond him, but also...

Boris had seen this man in the belly of the beast. Met him there, and was here with him now. They might have been friends, or at least friendly colleagues under a different arrangement. Perhaps if they'd met under different circumstances. If the first words out of Valery's mouth hadn't absolutely shredded Boris's pride in the presence of his colleagues. If… if none of this had happened, and yet they'd somehow chanced to meet. A conference. A bar maybe. Boris could see them drinking together on the weekends. Friendly chats before or after briefings. Valery being free with a smile for him… he could see that smile. Maybe it was the vodka letting him slip the bonds of his inhibitions a little, but Boris could picture that smile. Valery had a face for smiles.

And yet he'd still only seen him smile the once. Not that Boris himself wasn't a thundercloud personified on his best day, but this scientist… he had a sweet face, if Boris was being uncharacteristically honest. With his awkward stammering and shuffling, and his bright blue eyes, and healthy congregation of faintly ruddy freckles. 

Valery Legasov had an open face. A good face, he wanted to say, with clever eyes of blue. A face for smiles.

But he never smiled. Not that Boris had seen.

Except… that one time in the helicopter from Kiev, strangely enough. In the helicopter as they flew towards a nuclear reactor that Valery had been certain was cracked open like an egg. When Boris had demanded on pain of death that Valery explain how a nuclear reactor worked. Valery had smiled then, of all times. Just a flicker, but it had been there when Boris had shown him that he had been paying attention during Valery's near-tirade of a lecture at the Kremlin. 

He'd slipped from there into a wonderful sort of story-telling trance as he told Boris step by step how the miracle of fission powered the Soviet Union. About graphite, and boron, and uranium whatever-the-number-was… as he'd told him about _magic._ The magic that helped to sustain the Soviet Union. Magic that men like him had discovered. Whose arcane footsteps Valery had followed as a young man, Boris realized. Their glory and knowledge had become his in turn. And he was sharing it with Boris. Freely. Generously.

Cheerfully.

With an excited smile.

Of course, Boris had shattered the moment by nearly flying them over the open reactor, stubborn and ignorant fool that he was. But it had been there. Just for an instant, Valery Legasov had smiled. And now, sitting in the dark of his hotel room and staring at the man as he looked out over the empty husk of Pripyat, Boris held that moment up to the light in his mind, like peering through a piece of stained glass to see its true color. The vivid blue color of his eyes when he’d smiled … how they'd glittered… blue like the sky...

Blue like… like...

When they'd flown away from the reactor... When their pilot had listened to Legasov's truth and not Boris's bullish bluster, he had gotten a good look at that blue glow Valery had been on about. Unearthly. Unnatural. But… strangely beautiful in all those same ways. He could hardly blame the pilot for his disobedience. Even Boris would grudgingly admit that he didn't have that much steel in him. He'd remember that sight until the day he died. 

No matter how far or near that might be now.

He distracted himself from that line of thinking by focusing on Valery again, who still stood by the window, staring out over the deserted city with that perpetual pouting frown. It didn't suit his boyish face in the slightest. Silence didn't suit the man either, Boris mused as he watched him light up a cigarette, the flame catching in his eyes even behind his glasses. Valery loved to explain things, though that fact should be no surprise. It should be utterly unremarkable. He was a professor. Explaining things was his job and he excelled at it, but there was more to it than that. Boris remembered their first meeting once again, and the schooling that Valery had attempted to give the Central Committee on the nature of the disaster that had occurred and their pure nescience about it. He remembered, with sourness now, how much he'd disliked him. Hated him even. He'd unthinkingly made Boris look like an ignorant fool in front of Gorbachev. It had been galling then. 

But what was galling now was how much he didn't appreciate what he'd seen at that meeting. How Valery had stood up tall and straight and, with a bright, keen edge to his voice, he'd clearly explained with absolutely no preparation his deductions to the Central Committee. He explained with unshaking confidence to the most powerful men in the Soviet Union why they were wrong. All because he _knew_ he was right. 

God, to have that kind of certainty about anything...

Not that Valery's certitude had done him any favors. Boris remembered how he had slouched in both shock and defeat when his brilliantly elegant explanations had earned him an immediate trip to what he already knew was an irreparably broken, radiation-spewing reactor. Boris had vainly thought Valery was upset at having to travel with him, because he had tried to cow him repeatedly during the meeting. But no… Boris himself had been inconsequential at that moment. His bluster and bravado were just background noise. The real threat lay ahead. Valery had known where they were going. He had known what was there. He was already running the numbers in his head on his own life expectancy, and clearly Boris's as well. He was already picturing in his mind’s eye that brilliant blue glow…

_Blue…_

"What causes the blue glow?" Boris asked his rough voice startling in the gathered quiet. "Over the reactor. That… Cherenkov Effect, was it?"

Valery barely glanced at him, choosing to aggressively stub out his cigarette before replying. "That's what Bryukhanov said. You read it in the report."

"I fucking wrote the report, and I didn’t know how a nuclear reactor worked when I wrote it." Boris curtly replied, though there was no snap in his voice this time. Not like there had been in the helicopter. "What's the Cherenkov Effect? And why does it make the air glow?"

Rather than answer right away, Valery lit another cigarette and took a draw so long Boris thought his lungs might pop. "It's… It's not the Cherenkov Effect." Valery said finally. Almost unwillingly as the smoke that escaped him wreathed itself around his head. “That’s not what makes the air glow.”

"That's what Bryukhanov said it is.” Boris countered.

Valery snorted and took a drink. "Bryukhanov is telling you what Dyatlov told him, and Dyatlov is, if I may be so bold, a fucking madman. I don't know what's going on in his head, but he did some incredible acrobatics to deny what people in fucking Sweden figured out in less than two days. He gave them the number they had from the low-limit dosimeters, either because he was not bothering to think _why_ that was the number they had or he didn't want to think about it. And if I had to guess, he just assumed it was Cherenkov radiation making the air glow because it was blue. He gave that information to Bryukhanov, who gave it to your subordinates, which was how it got to you. I'm sorry, Comrade, but that report wasn't worth the paper it was written on." he swallowed the last of his vodka. 

Silence filled the room again, heavier now for the words exchanged. He cast a look at Boris out of the corner of his eye and saw him deflate. He was expecting another abrupt roaring tirade in response to his shortness, but it never came. The great hulk of a man just sighed, defeated yet again. "It's not your fault, Boris." he said, gentling his tone and bravely using his first name. "We were getting bad intel. Dyatlov didn't go digging for the truth because he knew… he knew what the truth was. I'm certain of that. He had to be at least somewhat aware. Maybe not entirely but...” He let the sentence trail off, shaking his head and swallowing some of his vodka.

Boris took a second to absorb that. He'd been so proud of the facts he had compiled in that report. He'd answered every anticipated question and ticked every box. But… if the report had been wrong, then it had been wrong, and he needed to correct that if they were to move forward and solve anything. He grabbed a pen and a piece of paper, noting that it was the same paper where Valery had scrawled his crude drawing of the reactor.

_Good. All his notes in one place._ He thought.

Though that was hardly why he was doing this. It was his excuse, most assuredly, but really, he just couldn't stand the sight of Valery Legasov staring out the window like that. Looking overwhelmed and lost and…

Hopeless.

"Professor Legasov," Boris chewed pointedly on the choice of title, earning him another more lingering and quizzical look. He let the formal appellation hang in the air a moment as he stood and refilled both their glasses. "You talked about ionization of the air when you pointed out the glow we saw from the helicopter. But Bryukhanov claimed that it was the Cherenkov Effect causing that glow, which you say is erroneous information that came from Dyatlov. I know what neither of these things are, much less the difference between them, and clearly I should understand it because if I had, I too would have known the reactor was blown open on sight, even if I didn't recognize the graphite in the rubble. So." He paused for a drink. "What causes the Cherenkov Effect? What do you mean when you say the air is being ionized? And why is it one and not the other?"

Valery slowly turned to look at him, sipping at his vodka as he did so. He didn't smile exactly, but it appeared to Boris that he, perhaps, frowned a little less as he addressed him. “Comrade Deputy Chairman Shcherbina," he replied with his own puckish crispness. "That is three questions. Which would you like me to answer first?”

Boris tried not to look too pleased with himself as he topped off both their glasses and returned to the couch. Good. He was playing along. "I suppose whichever you think is best." He replied. "You're the expert here. Not me." His words had bite, but no teeth. Only an amused playfulness, barely veiled as he divested himself of his tie and rolled up the sleeves of his starched white shirt.

Valery lifted a shoulder, the motion barely visible under his baggy suit jacket. “I suppose the best place to start is why Dyatlov had it wrong. The Cherenkov effect creates the famous blue glow that's associated with working nuclear reactors. Dyatlov, no doubt, saw it in his training. But… what is supposed to surround a working nuclear reactor?” Valery lingers on the word "working," his eyes floating slowly in the direction of the shattered corpse of Reactor No. 4.

Boris gave a warning arch of his heavy brow at the Socratic question, but again, the fangs were pulled from the expression by a disarming glint in his eyes. "Graphite?" he said. It was obvious he knew this was wrong. He was just ribbing Valery at that point. Anything to get the man to loosen up, since clearly the vodka wasn't working. And, as it turned out, the questions were.

Whether Valery recognized the jab, Boris couldn't tell. “Sometimes." he replied, taking a long drag off his cigarette. "RBMK reactors use graphite as a moderator, but that’s not essential. The Canadians use heavy water, for instance. Water molecules that have a hydrogen isotope which…" He stopped himself. "It doesn't matter. The essential thing, surrounding a _working_ reactor is coolant. Specifically and most commonly, this is water." He paused and licked his thin lips in thought. "Tell me, Boris, were you in Moscow for the May Day military parade last year?”

Boris's shoulders squared a little out of their slouch. "Of course. I'm a veteran of the Winter War myself. And as a member of the Central Committee, I never miss it."

Valery gave a little nod, visibly compiling that previously unknown little detail about his associate. “Last year, when the MiG-25’s flew by, there was a thunderous noise, different from the usual roar of jet engines using their afterburners. A sonic boom."

"Yes." Boris sat forward with a little frown. But not one of disapproval. One of interest. 

Encouraged, Valery went on. "You see, whenever an airplane flies faster than the speed of sound, it creates a shock wave in the air. The airplane outruns its own sound waves, and a shock front of air pressure forms behind it." He gestured with both hands, his cigarette leaving little vapor trails. "When that shock passes us, we hear it as a sonic boom.

“Now, you’re probably wondering what this has to do with blue light coming from nuclear reactors. Well, all waves work in pretty much the same way, and that includes light waves. So if you have an object, let's say like the subatomic particles produced as nuclear radiation, and this is traveling faster than light, it will create an optical shock that looks like a little flash of light. Do this many times, as happens in an active reactor, and you get that striking blue glow we’ve all seen pictures of.”

Valery paused and looked at Boris somewhat expectantly. He had given this explanation many times before, rotely going through the well-rehearsed patterns he always used to explain to students what produces that iconic soft glow of a working reactor. And usually it's at this point that the students, all versed in the basic physical laws of the universe, invariably ask how something could travel faster than light.

But not Boris Shcherbina. Valery looked at his shadow-laden face again. He saw his blank, patient eyes as he waited for Valery to continue… and Valery remembered his history. And then he did a little math. But not scientific math. Historical math. Calendar math. 

_Right._

These days, Valery's students, newly admitted to university in their late teens and early twenties, would always seek to wield their ever-expanding knowledge to understand the world around him. But Boris? At that age, he was freezing his face half off in Karelia or some such place. He was wielding not a pencil but a rifle, shooting at the Finns that materialized on their skis like phantoms in the endless night of the northern winter. He would be asking no questions about things like the speed of light, and so Valery would need to fill in the students’ part in the usual academic dance. So he took another drink to cover the pause and went on.

“Now something to bear in mind," Valery said, still gesticulating with his cigarette. "Is that Albert Einstein realized through his research that nothing can go faster than the speed of light. But when we, meaning scientists, talk about the speed of light, we are talking about the speed of light _in a vacuum_. Meaning no resistance. You see, light slows down when it goes through something dense, like water. But nuclear radiation doesn’t slow down when passing through air or, in this case, water. This is part of what makes it so dangerous. So you wind up with nuclear radiation traveling faster than light while it’s moving through water. This creates an optical shock, just like those sonic booms in Moscow. Billions of them are happening all at once, and it makes that beautiful, eerie blue light. That’s Cherenkov radiation, or the Cherenkov Effect.”

Boris nodded lucidly, though his eyes had gone a little distant. The knowledge seemed abstract and strange, like they were talking about something out of a fairytale. But it all still made sense in the way Valery explained it. Boris felt like he might even be able to explain it if Gorbachev put him on the spot. Maybe he didn't have an education in the same sense as Valery, but he hadn't gotten to where he was by having a brain that was slow on its feet. He'd already proven his ability to nimbly apply newly acquired concepts to great effect with his initial confrontation with the plant managers. His quick mind was as much a part of him as his stubbornness or his temper.

Valery was an excellent professor too. That certainly helped. And as far as Boris was concerned, the more knowledge the better right now.

"So it glows blue." Boris said, taking a mouthful of vodka. "But you said that's _not_ the light that we're seeing over the reactor now. Even though that is also blue. Why?" 

Valery ground his spent cigarette into the ashtray, but didn't light another. Instead, he turned to face Boris where he reclined on the couch. “Ah. Well, I can't say for sure without interviewing the man, but my best guess is that Dyatlov figured that if Cherenkov radiation makes the water glow blue, then anything glowing blue over the reactor fire must be Cherenkov radiation. Not true. Light doesn’t slow down very much at all passing through air, and the air isn’t dense enough to make light that bright even if it did. I guess if we are feeling charitable, we can recognize that Dyatlov is an engineer and not a physicist, and thus forgive him for not thinking about this. I imagine nobody ever covered what happens when a stricken reactor pours neutrons and gamma radiation into the sky in undergraduate nuclear engineering school.”

Valery fished around in his coat pocket for his pack of cigarettes. When he found them, he paused for a moment to count how many remained, biting his lips as he did so. Boris, having spent time in the trenches of both Finland and his home soil, knew rationing when he saw it. 

"I'll see to it a supply is brought in for you." he told Valery, gesturing for him to not refrain.

Valery gave an appreciative little nod, that glint coming back into his eyes again as he lit another cigarette. He breathed in a lungful of smoke before he continued. “To understand what we are seeing, we need to think about what air is made of." he said, his voice once again gaining a calming, almost sequential and orderly cadence. "It's mostly oxygen and nitrogen atoms, and each of those atoms has a positively-charged nucleus and negatively-charged electrons bound to it. They’re attracted to the nucleus by an incredibly strong electric force, and it takes a vast amount of energy- Well, vast on the scale of atoms, anyway, to pull the electrons away.”

As he listened, Boris was suddenly possessed once again by the sneaking suspicion that Valery had given this lecture, or at least one very much like it, more times than he could count. The language was methodical… almost hypnotic, as it had been when he'd lost himself in the helicopter for a moment. Boris had to shake himself to make sure he paid attention to the answer he was being given, and not just the beautiful picture being created just for him. 

“The particles streaming out of the shattered reactor core provide the energy necessary for this, and then some. Little bullets, right?" Valery went on, puffing like a smoke stack and gesturing with his cigarette until all the air around him was awash in a blue-gray haze. "They break apart the very air. They strike the atoms and send the nuclei flying away from their electrons, or the other way around. And a chemists’ word for this process is ‘ionization’. The incredibly intense radiation pouring from the open reactor core ionized the air above it. Is ionizing it… so..." 

That last statement trailed for the briefest second, almost as if Valery couldn't believe he was saying it aloud. As if he couldn't believe he had seen it. But he had, and Boris had... It was happening. Right now. Right outside their window… unbelievable…

But he shook himself and continued. “So, now the air isn’t electrically neutral. There are positive ions and negative electrons that have been separated from them. But the electrons still remember where they came from, and once they cool down enough they feel the pull of their former homes. Meaning the pull of the electric force that once bound them in their orbits. So, after a little while, the pieces of the atom reunite. But the electron carries with it some of the energy that it was given when it was torn free of the atom, and that energy has to go somewhere. So it comes out as light. And that's what we saw over the reactor. Trillions and trillions of tiny atoms being torn apart and piecing themselves back together. Over and over and over again. Enough that the air glows blue."

Boris made a little "huh" at the back of his throat before polishing off his vodka. The way Valery's eyes sparkled behind his glass made his stomach do a little flip, but he told himself it was the alcohol and distracted himself with another question. "So why's it blue? Why not… say white? Seems like it should be white. Or maybe red..."

“Well, each kind of atom has a fingerprint of colors that it emits when it reunites." Valery answered, still in that same professorly narrator's cadence. Almost as if he had expected the question, and was pleased to be asked it. "We control this process when we use electricity to ionize the atoms, and let them make light for us when they reunite. Neon glows red, for instance. Sodium? Orange. That's why streetlights are orange. So as for the glow we saw above Reactor 4? Oxygen and nitrogen are the primary components of our atmosphere. They both glow blue.”

Boris placidly listened to the lecture he'd wrought. Listened and watched as Legasov, slowly came to life before his eyes. The real man. Not the frightened shell that had been cowed and herded to this awful place with someone as equally awful as the bullish Boris Shcherbina. He'd earned his reputation for being stubborn and impatient in his dealings with Valery thus far, and for the first time ever in his career, he truly regretted that reputation. 

So now, he patiently listened to Valery. Not just for the information, which was useful in telling him there was a whole host of things about radiation that he was utterly clueless about. But he also listened to _how_ Valery talked about these things. There was a certain… Romanticism, if Boris was being honest. He'd noticed it in the helicopter but only at the edges… a word choice here and a tone shift there.

And that shadow of a shadow of a smile.

But now… with a little vodka to take the chill out of the air between them, and what Boris thought was probably enough nicotine to kill a bull elephant, the professor-turned-narrator Valery Legasov was in full form. 

"Beautiful glow," he'd called it.

Describing atoms as being torn from their "homes" and longing to return there.

Reunification, and fingerprints, and the sheer idea of something like a nucleus having "their" electrons.

Particles having memories… knowing where they came from...

He wove a beautiful narrative tapestry from threads of fact. It was all wonderfully romantic and humanized. And above all, it was accessible, even to someone like him. All these concepts that Valery had explained… the process of fission, Cherenkov radiation, and ionization… Not only could Boris understand them, but he felt like he could get his teeth around them. Just like the concept of the graphite. He could not only understand it, but he grasped why it was so important both to their understanding of just how horrible everything was and to his personal understanding of how a nuclear reactor worked in the first place.

"What?" Valery said, stubbing out his cigarette.

Boris realized he was staring and that Valery had long since stopped talking. He must be drunker than he realized. Or at least, he hopes that's what Valery thinks.

"Nothing just…" Boris lifted one massive shoulder in a heavy shrug. "Once upon a time, I knew everything there was to know about the energy industry in this country. And now, in less than a decade, I'm obsolete."

Valery waved a hand dismissively. "You're not obsolete."

"I am. You should be doing my job."

Valery smiled, but bitterly. "Setting aside the fact that I am a physicist and not a nuclear engineer, I'd be terrible at your job and you know it. You saw me in the Committee meeting. Charkov would be picking me out of his teeth within a week."

Boris snorted at that since he couldn't argue with it.

"But…" Valery grimaced a grin again as he was staring down at the last swallow of vodka in his glass, and Boris tried not to lean forward too much when he saw it. _Almost… almost…_ "But I guess it does mean you don't need me after all. Now that Khomyuk is here."

Boris stood up and crossed to him before he was quite aware of what he was doing. That self-effacement… degradation even. It clawed at Boris's heart and he needed… needed to do _something_ about it. Something to help. He was tired… so very tired of feeling useless.

Valery was either too drunk to react in time or… Boris didn't let his brain finish that statement. What was happening was already dangerous enough. Boris had stepped into his space, just enough to hold up his half-empty glass to Valery's and clink the rims together. But he was standing closer than necessary, strictly speaking...

"I need you too. You're the one that saved us from my stupidity." he said softly. "Perhaps I'll return the favor by just keeping you from talking yourself up the KGB's ass, hmm?"

"Please." Valery replied, still not taking a step back. He'd had ample time by now. And that "please" was far heavier than it should have been...

They both drank and set their empty glasses on the windowsill. Side by side, just like they were, watching the reactor burn. But they were not watching the reactor burn. Not really. Their glasses were watching it for them. They were looking at each other. Eyes and breath alike caught in the cloaking dark of the room. And the air suddenly felt electric.

As if it should be glowing...

Who moved first, no one would ever be sure upon recollection. Only that an unseen force compelled them to close the space, and press their lips together. And they did, unable to resist. Unable to deny. And unable to question why it was happening. Only that there was something about the other that they found irresistible. An attraction that defied all attempts to parse it. It simply was… like gravity. Like magnetism...

The kiss tasted hotly of vodka, and under that, Boris could almost draw in the smoke that lingered on Valery's breath. They didn't touch. Not with their hands. Not yet. That would be too much. This was barely more than a mingling of the air between them. A tenderness shared and divided for just a moment. And then the moment was gone, like fog burnt away in the morning sun.

Boris could see the wheels turning in Valery's head again as he withdrew and folded in on himself, but he didn't let him. He hooked one finger under his chin and lifted it so that the sparse light in the room reignited in Valery's eyes. And before either of them could speak, Boris kissed him again. Deeper and more purposeful this time, letting his knuckle slide every so lightly along Valery's cheekbone. He was letting him know that this was no accident. This was no drunken indiscretion. Boris could taste only the smoke that clung to him now. He could lick the taste of it from his mouth and he did. He wanted to. It was a filthy habit, but somehow it made Boris want to set his teeth in him all the more deeply.

"Boris…" Valery put so much feeling into just the breathing of his name that Boris felt himself swoon a little. Valery's hands stayed fisted at his side but he didn't move. He didn't want to move, at least not anywhere but closer, but he didn't dare.

Boris laid his hand on Valery's cheek and his thumb over his parted lips. _Quiet,_ he motioned, before pressing a heavy hand on Valery's chest to keep him in place. Then Boris stalked across the room, his footfalls heavy on the threadbare carpets. He opened the door and said out loud, "Good night, Comrade Legasov." before stepping across the hall to convincingly rattle the handle of Valery's door. Then just like that, he was back at Valery's side. 

With carefully matching steps to hide their footfalls, Boris pulled him towards the bed, collapsing onto it when he felt the mattress at the back of his knees. He looked up at Valery, who was barely breathing, the air in his lungs doing little more than making him shake like a leaf.

"There is a bug under the windowsill by the desk." Boris whispered, cupping Valery's hands in his. "The KGB are quite curious about who meets with me here, but if we're quiet we can talk here… we can-"

"Boris, we shouldn't…" Valery started to interrupt him but he couldn't finish the sentence. He wasn't pulling away, but his posture was curling in on itself, shrinking him in the confines of his loose-fitting jacket.

Boris stilled suddenly fearing he'd misread everything entirely. "Do you not want this?"

There was that bladed, humorless smile. The one from the Kremlin conference room. The one that hurt Boris to see. "It's not that." Valery whispered, almost to himself.

Boris almost pulled his hands away, suddenly unsure of the terrain beneath his feet. But he didn't. He couldn't. Even if he had misjudged, he couldn't abandon Valery to his embarrassment. Not like this. He still coveted a smile. Just one. He wanted that more than anything else, and he would do whatever it took to get it. It would make everything better. This place. His newly learned fate. Everything...

"I'm so sorry." Valery stammered, though he made no attempt to leave Boris's space. He was practically standing between his knees as he shuffled his feet on the worn carpet.

"That's the second time tonight you've apologized for something that wasn't your fault." Boris drew Valery's face up to his again. "What is it, Valery? Have I overstepped?"

He shook his head as much as Boris allowed him. "No. It's just… I… I should know better by my age."

"I should say we both should." Boris replied, a rueful smile on his thin lips. "I've read your file, Valery."

"Of course you have." He did hang his head now, but he tucked his cheek into the hollow of Boris's hand. Tension drew in his shoulders like a bowstring. Was this a trap? Was this all some sort of elaborate ruse to entrap him here. A degenerate and a convenient way to be rid of him that served the Soviet cause. It was perfect.

But then again… it didn't feel like a trap. When he chanced a glance at Boris's face, the look in his eyes didn't feel like a trap. Something in him wanted to apologize again, but he kept it behind his teeth.

"I imagine it was lonely and stressful at the academy." Boris soothed one hand up Valery's side and he watched as he fought for all he was worth to stay standing and not chase the touch. "One must find comfort where they can. Yes?"

Valery gave a defeated nod and tried to hang his head again.

But Boris didn't let him. He stroked his cheek until Valery was following the motion and would meet his eyes again. "A foxhole in Finland is not that much different. Perhaps a bit colder.”

"What…?" The shock on Valery's face must've been evident because Boris smiled. Mischievous and pleased. 

"Happened all the time at the front, but of course no one ever talks about it. And I found that… while most of my fellow soldiers were replacing their girls back home, I was finding their company suited my taste just as well as a woman’s.”

"Oh." Valery said lamely. In his utter shock it was all he could find to say. But his features softened. Some of the misery melted from his face to be replaced by some strange shade of curiosity.

"Oh." Boris repeated, a thread of fond teasing sewn into his tone. "Now, you seem to be enjoying yourself, but I won't press this further unless you're certain of-"

Boris had started to pull his hand away from Valery's cheek as he spoke, but he grabbed it quickly. "No." he said, his voice a thin, almost whistling whisper. A quiet mirror of the "no" he'd spit at Gorbachev, but just as desperate. He'd have shouted if he could. He clutched Boris's hand where he'd stopped it, just along his stubble roughened jaw. He pressed his palm there, feeling the heat soak into his skin, before turning to kiss it, trembling as he did so. 

It was still not a smile, but nevertheless, the sight of it stole Boris's breath. He'd only wanted to comfort the scientist, whatever form that should take. Make him smile… maybe make him do a little more than smile. He hadn't expected him to crack clean apart in his hands at the merest gesture of gentleness. For him to kiss a hand that touched him in kindness like it was a holy relic. He could only sit in awe of it, and a little in horror as well. And then follow as it prompted. He was adrift himself now, slave to whatever this man needed.

"No…" Valery whispered more gently, lips still on his skin. "Please, I…" But the words died in his throat. He'd never spoken of desires before. Never limned them with words even in his own mind. He could talk at length about anything he'd studied… but his own wants? He'd never looked at those long enough to articulate them. It seemed dangerous. Cancerous even. To acknowledge such deviance was to invite growth which, in the Soviet Union, was to invite disaster. Especially as a young man with his father being who he was.

But he made himself look at Boris. Tried to convey with his eyes since his voice was failing him. _I want whatever it is you're trying to give me. I want to give back as best I can, but I don't know what I'm doing. It's been so long… and even then I just took what I was given. I don't know what I want… other than this… more of this… don't stop… Please..._

"Please…" It was the only word to actually slip out, fractured and desperate. At the sound of it, Boris took pity on him, drawing him down to kiss him again, pushing his jacket off his shoulders as he did so. Valery's frame went slack with relief, sagging into Boris's hands with the softest sigh.

_Yes alright._ Boris seemed to say, hands busy with Valery's tie as he kissed his way downward. He wasn't rough or rushed, but he was by no means taking his time. Valery just hid his face against the join of Boris's shoulder and fisted his hands in his shirt as Boris painstakingly peeled him apart.

Eventually he wound up in Boris's lap, being borne forward onto the bed until he was straddling the other man's thighs. A few more buttons and one sharp tug, and Boris had Valery's shirt off, but still the man did little more than tremble in his grip, hiding his face against his shirt front and trying like hell to breathe like a normal human being. He felt like he was being flayed. Stripped and laid bare, but he couldn't resist. Something about it felt good… felt right… and he wanted more. More and more and more...

He hadn't been fully aware of the sounds he was making. Not loud ones, but pitiful ones. A sweet, whining keen muffled against Boris's throat that spoke of so much buried want. That was when Boris just gathered him down onto his chest and held him there. He kissed Valery's face, his knuckles, his throat, his collarbones. And he held him tightly for a handful of slowly steadying breaths, as if he could reassure him with his grip and with the rhythms of his own body that he wouldn't let him fly apart. That Boris had him. That he wasn't going to let go before he set Valery back on his feet again. 

And before he would smile.

Boris painted long, soothing stripes over his bare back as he drew his face up from the shadows. There was another kiss then, smoky and sweet all at once. And deeper and more messy as well. Valery was getting bolder and Boris was practically drinking him in. 

Valery withdrew for a brief moment to catch his breath and school his trembling hands. And his eyes ever so deferentially flicked down to the buttons of Boris's shirt. The question there was obvious, even if he couldn't bring himself to ask it out loud. He was practically begging with every corner of his frame and every line of his face. But he still clawed in vain for words. It was heartbreaking.

"Go on then, Valera." he said. 

A wretchedly grateful sound nearly escaped him at the sweet name Boris gave him. And Boris kissed the weakness from his lips again as Valery began to undo the buttons of his shirt. His fingers trembled as did the rest of him, but he managed to undress him, eagerly and gently all at once. Reverently really, if Boris felt like waxing poetic. Which he did… the more he was in Valery's presence, the more he understood why wordsmiths fussed so with finding the perfect expression of adoration for their beloved. 

For he did love Valery in that moment. At least a little bit. He would infuriate him tomorrow, of course. And the next day. And the day after that. And Boris would love him then too. All at once. He would adore him and curse him and admonish him and _love_ him… The seed of forever, or what they had of it anyway, seemed to be planted in that moment, though he could hardly know it. He only knew that he wanted him now. And that he loved him now.

Valery had finally gotten all of Boris's buttons undone and he tugged his shirttails free so that the shirt gapped open across his broad chest. And for a moment, Valery just stared, carding his fingers through the silvery carpet of hair on his chest. His eyes flicked up, uncertain as he'd been all night, but then rather than ask permission or wait for Boris to prompt him, he leaned forward to kiss the flat of his breastbone. His breath caught, and so did Boris's. He kissed him again, feeling the tickle of his chest hair against his nose. And again, slightly to the right, Boris's pulse kicking lightly against the press of his lips. And the next kiss he laid squarely on Boris's right nipple, lips parted so his tongue could sneak out for a taste.

Boris let the caress carry him backwards onto the bed, barely swallowing a groan as he did so. And if he was not mistaken, he could feel Valery smiling against his skin. He was still uncertain and unsteady. Still not entirely sure he wasn't dreaming or that this wasn't some sort of elaborate trap laid by the KGB. But he was bolder. He led with his tongue this time, giving a long experimental lick. When Boris responded again by arching towards him, Valery became relentless. He pointed his tongue, licking slow circles around and around each nipple until Boris had to grab him by the shoulders and get him to stop, lest he vibrate out of his skin. Valery had the gall to look contrite, that little smile still curling his mouth as he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. 

And for a moment, the world narrowed to a point for Boris. This had been what he'd wanted. A smile. Valery looked young with a smile on his kiss-swollen lips, his face boyish in the thin light from the window, especially with that pretty blush welling up under his freckles. 

"Let me…" Boris began to speak but his words failed him as Valery shifted over him, bumping their trapped erections together. He pawed for the fly of Valery's pants making him freeze over him, uncertainty painting his features once more. He stilled as well. "Unless you…"

"It's… it's been a long time…" Valery began, beginning to draw in on himself again as the smile began to wilt from his lips. "I… I…"

Boris caught his chin and kissed him gently to calm his stammering. "I only want to touch you." he said, smoothing his hand up into Valery's soft hair. "And… maybe have you touch me? Nothing more. Not tonight."

"Oh…" From the look on Valery's face, Boris wasn't sure if he was disappointed or not.

"Is that alright?"

He could only nod. He didn't trust his voice right now. Especially not when Boris reached between his legs and ran one knuckle up the seam of his pants. His spine curled as he chased the motion, a tiny sound escaping him. Boris repeated the motion, his touch heavier this time. And again and again, until Valery had begun to tremble once more. Only then did he have mercy and pop the fly on his suit pants.

Valery didn't dawdle after that. He pushed his pants and underwear down in something of an awkward scramble as he sought to bare more of himself to Boris's demandingly gentle hands. And he was rewarded for his expediency when his big hand closed around his aching cock.

Again, he only just managed to choke back a cry of ecstasy. He buried it behind clenched teeth this time. Oh it felt so good to be touched like this. To be held in place so gently and so certainly. And suddenly he wanted nothing more than to repay the favor, however inexpertly. He let himself be lost to his touch for only a few strokes more before he withdrew from Boris's grip. He had to before it became too much, and when he pulled back he caught Boris's uncertain expression.

"I want… to touch you too." he said, prising the words out from their protected place at the bottom of his heart. "I want to touch you too." He pressed his palm to the bulge swollen up behind Boris's fly. He gave another voiceless grunt as well as a gratified smile as he chased the pressure with a generous roll of his hips. Valery took that as a "yes" and quickly rid Boris of his pants, leaving him only in his shirt, undone and spread open.

Valery stared for a moment at Boris's cock, arching thick and curved up onto his soft stomach. He wondered things. Things he hadn't thought about keenly in decades. How that might feel inside of him. How well he could please Boris by riding it. 

How it might taste…

He was ready for that one at least. Without preamble and without leaving any chance to second guess himself, Valery leaned down and laved the flat of his tongue up the full length of his cock, feeling his length jump and twitch at the attention. Boris huffed out a shocked breath at the turn of events, his hand coming to rest on the nape of Valery's neck. Not pushing or pulling or manipulating in any way. Just resting there, almost in reassurance. 

A bead of liquid leaked from the tip of Boris's and Valery felt compelled to lick it up. To wrap his tongue and his lips around Boris's girth and suck him clean. The bitter, heady taste of it sent a little thrill through him, making him shudder from the crown of his head to to the soles of his feet. It made him _want._ He wanted to give himself over to Boris. To suck at that weeping slit. To feel his pulse on his tongue. To make his heart hammer and his breath catch. 

And he did, but only for a moment before Boris pushed at his shoulders. "I'm not a young man, Valera. Get up here and let me touch you." his voice barely more than a husky whisper.

As Valery crawled up his body again, Boris gently conducted him up to the pillows and spread him out beneath him. Valery sighed when his back hit the mattress with something like relief. Like he was grateful to have choices taken away from him for right now. Maybe that was only in that moment, but Boris still filed it away in his mind for later. Valery would let go if given half the chance.

And Boris would give him every chance.

He knew in that moment, seeing his sweet face finally free of care and worry in the instant he lay back across the bed, he knew he would give him every chance to have this. He would give him everything.

Boris kissed him again. Kissed those sweetly parted lips, which parted further on contact. Everything about him begged for more, and Boris felt powerless to deny him. He licked into his mouth, tasting the smoke and the desire there. And eating up a groan as their erections nudged together. Valery chased the sensation, arching and twisting beneath him.

"Borja, please…" he whispered against his open mouth.

That broken, endearing plea left him no choice. Boris drew back, made something of a ribald show of liberally licking the palm of his hand before closing it around both their lengths. Valery went rigid and then completely still under him, eyes wide and staring with fists buried in Boris's shirt. Staring up at Boris blankly and almost beatifically. Everything in the world was gone. It was just them.

He wasn't smiling, but in a way this was better than just a smile. He looked wonderfully and blissfully lost. Happy to be so. Happy to be gone from the world for just a little while. Happy to want and to be wanted…

In that beautiful moment, Boris realized that there was only one thing that could truly distract Valery from all of it. Distract him from the tens of millions of lives at stake. From the hundreds… maybe thousands of lives they were going to consume outright with this project. From the unholy rite of intercalation happening just a few kilometers away, spitting rancid isotopes into the air as a diseased wound wept pus.

And that one thing was the fulfillment of a desire so deeply buried, Boris knew it would take a lifetime… a real lifetime to fully excavate it. He didn't have a lifetime. Not anymore. But he would burn every instant he had left to make all the headway he could. He somehow felt Valery deserved that from him. After everything… both Boris's doing and not. Valery deserved to know his desires. To be able to name them, describe them, and ask for them. Not beg. Not meekly allow for them, but to frame them in words that he might be able to ask for them outright.

To ask Boris for them.

It would be Boris's life’s work. What was left of it anyway.

Starting now.

He stroked the full length of them using only his fingers. The pressure was light and Valery chased it, grinding their cocks together as both beaded with wetness at the tips. Satisfied with the reaction, Boris repeated the motion. He didn't want to tease either of them, but he suddenly had no desire to rush. This moment deserved to be drawn out, for pleasure's sake if nothing else.

Valery moaned dangerously loud, and jammed his fist into his mouth in order to keep quiet. His teeth pinched the skin until it turned white and he whimpered again, but Boris couldn't be sure it wasn't in pain. Gently… so gently, he pulled Valery's hand away from his mouth, gently replacing it with his own to cover his lips. 

He seemed to relax a little more then, but his hands still fidgeted as Boris stroked him. Pawing at the sheets. Clenching in Boris's rumpled shirt. Pulling at the pillow under his head. He was still tense. Still so awash in things outside his own pleasure. Fighting it all tooth and nail instead of enjoying it. He wouldn't even touch Boris, almost as if any more contact with his skin might set him alight.

"Valera." Boris whispered, garnering his attention. Valery stilled and Boris gently took his hand and wrapped it around their cocks alongside his own, Both were a mess by now. Slick and red and throbbing as they rutted against each other.

Valery gave him a desperate look as he did so, moaning against Boris's palm though making no effort to shake free of it. He glided his hand up and down, eyes falling closed at the sensation. He was no longer fidgeting. Both hands were busy, one pumping with an increasingly steady intensity and the other slipping up his chest and cupping the back of Boris's neck. 

Eventually, Boris had to kiss him again. Had to cradle him beneath him. Had to hold him close lest he fly apart. He peeled his hand away only to quickly replace it with the reassurance of his mouth and his tongue stroking expertly over Valery's.

_I have you. Let go._ He wanted to say. He wanted to say so much more than that too, but he wasn't sure he could hang words on any of it just yet. But he had Valery. He wouldn't let him fall to pieces. 

He kept their mouths pressed together, swallowing up sounds from both of them as their thrusts grew erratic. 

"Borja…" Valery whispered brokenly against his lips. "I'm…"

"Valera." was the only word he could find in response. The only thing that tasted right in his mouth right now. The sweetness of the endearment, barely limned in sound as it was though Boris felt it like a blow. It brought him dangerously near the edge of his own climax. He reached down that his own hand could tangle once more with Valery's where they were grinding together. 

Valery kissed him again and groaned savagely into his mouth as he came, spilling over their fists. That had Boris over the edge in an instant. He'd accomplished his goal and the pleasure of that was the final push he'd needed to send himself flying. Valery was coming apart under him. Wasn't curling in on himself or flinching or bowing under the stress. He was naked and panting and coming apart for him. Coming apart _with_ him, eyes bright and expression open. No hunched shoulders. No attempt at hiding it. He was _showing_ himself to Boris in that moment. He was incandescently himself for just a moment and that in turn made Boris feel beautifully and frightfully seen. 

And Boris realized there was precious little of that to go around for both of them. Perhaps this could change that. Perhaps… when this was over…

_No… not yet…_

_No thinking about that just yet. It was too soon…_

They lay there for a moment, frozen and panting for air with a shared mess of come cooling between them. And Boris could practically taste the tension returning to cloud the air between them. Valery's frame had started to fold in on itself again almost on instinct or reflex. Self-consciousness and fear was beginning to bleed across his orgasm-flushed face. So Boris kissed him again. Chastely and sweetly. On the cheek and then on the lips, before rising from the bed. But he left one hand planted firmly on Valery's breastbone.

_Stay._ he said with the pressure. _Stay here. I'll be right back._

A few moments in the bathroom, and Boris emerged again with a washcloth in hand. He sat beside Valery rather than lying down beside him, and began to wipe him down. Valery covered his face as Boris passed the washcloth over his skin. He was being gentle. So gentle. And tender. He couldn't bear to watch.

Boris let him hide. He'd insisted on seeing him in the throes of his pleasure, but he let Valery have a moment of privacy for this. It was somewhat embarrassing after all. Uncomfortable and awkward, and that mixed with the vulnerability of the moment… it was too much after all they'd done tonight.

But when he was finished, he carefully pulled off the rest of his clothes save his underwear and climbed into bed. Valery watched him between parted fingers, astonished and almost fearful. Boris didn't touch him, but they were so close they could feel the mingling warmth coming off their overheated skin.

Valery looked frightened again as he forced himself to peel his hands from his face. His eyes were shot wide with uncertainty and his shoulders drawn in, like an animal hiding in its den. And yet still, beneath that turbulent surface lay a deep, untapped well of want. Boris could practically taste it on the air between them.

"Valera." he said, trying to draw the man out of his existential spiral. "What is it?"

"You… won't tell anyone?" he asked, the words barely audible.

Boris felt his heart break with a nauseating crack of pity. "Not a soul." He said, resisting the urge to gather Valery to him. He didn't know if he wanted that. If he liked to be held like this...

He didn't know anything about what Valery wanted, truth be told. Boris had conducted them along this evening. He'd given Valery everything he'd reached for. Everything he'd seemed to want. But now… now he wanted to give him something else. Something he seemed to have trouble with not even just in this space.

The right to ask.

"What do you want, Valera?" he said gently.

Valery's breath stilled and the magnificent clockwork behind his eyes ground to a halt. He licked his lips twice over as a frown bit down between his brows. 

"It's alright, Valera. You can tell me. Or you can show me. It doesn't matter to me."

Valery forced a breath down into his lungs. He still wasn't quite ready for words, but he knew what he wanted. So he just moved into the space against Boris's broad chest, burying his nose in his chest hair and breathing in the smell of sweat and sex that clung to his skin. And as he exhaled, every muscle in his body seemed to relax as he sighed for what seemed like an eternity. All tension… all anxiety leaked away until there was nothing left but languid pleasure…

There was a smile again. Boris couldn't see it, but he could feel it pressed to his skin along with a few kisses.

"I suppose I have to go." Valery said after a moment's blissful rest.

"It would probably be for the best." Boris said, voice heavy with regret.

Valery nodded, face rubbing against the fur of his chest. At first it had been a response, but it gradually turned into a nuzzling, exploring caress of his cheek. "Just a few more minutes?"

Boris nodded, a mussed lock of ginger hair tickling his nose as he kissed the crown of Valery's head. "I'll wake you if you fall asleep."

And he did almost instantly, sinking down into the mattress and against Boris's chest. And Boris just gathered him against his ribs, nose in his hair as he whispered. "Ask me for whatever you need, Valera. It's yours."

_Including me…_

***

Boris and Ulana walk in the park all evening, enjoying the hazy summer air together. Round and round the same path they go, retreading old history between them as surely as the worn concrete beneath their feet. It's comfortable. Almost happy even, were it not for the specter of Valery trailing after them. But "almost happy" was better than anything else they'd felt over the last month or so. So they kept walking and talking, round and round, until at last, as the chill of true twilight creeps into the air, Ulana regretfully announces that she really must go back to the train station.

Both are oddly speechless as they stand at the platform. What is there to say after all? If Valery had been there he wouldn't have been able to stand the lack of conversation. He would have made some sort of banal comment so incongruous to his intellect as to be baffling. But Ulana and Boris stand silently, just inside each other's space. Not touching, but close enough to sense the other without looking. 

It's only when the boarding call comes that Ulana finally looks up at him. 

"Be careful, Ulana." Boris says gently, though it was clear his gentle advice has nothing to do with safety on her journey.

"I will. You too, Boris." she replies just as pointedly.

At that they should have parted ways. That's what the propriety of their stations dictated. They are two professionals meeting for dinner and that's all. That was supposed to be all anyway, but neither can move. Neither want to move. At least not until Boris leans down and kisses her ever so lightly on the cheek.

His lips linger and her breath catches. And an unspoken promise slips between them, easy as it ever has.

_I'll see you soon._

And then she's gone. Boris watches her go, but she doesn't look back and he understands why. 

The walk back to his apartment is abysmal. He could call a driver. There are perks to being in the Kremlin inner circle after all, but he doesn't. He walks with sore, tired feet, and carries with him the absence of his compatriots. His friends…

His…

They had never put a name to it. Not ever. How could they? _Why_ would they? It just... was. And it was good. And it would still be good now were it not for Valery's damn honest streak. Or Ulana's stubbornness, or Boris's inability to resist giving Valery everything he had the power to give him. His last gift to Valery it would seem would be his voice. And he'd done it knowing the man would hang himself with it in the end.

Boris had hoped to walk off the melancholy but it follows him home, up into his apartment where he finds himself just standing in front of his picture window. He doesn't even bother with dragging a bottle of vodka over to keep him company. He knows it won't help. Nothing helps.

Charkov had been right. It eventually would get to him and then the true punishment would begin. 

And now it had. He was coughing up blood… and he was alone. And there was nothing to be done about it.

So what was there to do, but keep going?

***


	3. The Cost of Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why did it explode?
> 
> On paper, she could make the core melt down to the groundwater in half a dozen different ways. She could rupture fuel rod channels or fry the motors in the control rods. Blow the control system tank and burst coolant pipes. But she couldn't make the damn thing do what it did. There was no way. It wasn't physically possible… except that it was. It had to be because that's what had happened. So that only meant it wasn't mathematically possible... 
> 
> But what the hell did that _mean?_
> 
> She set her pencil down harder than she'd meant to and stood from the barstool in something of a frustrated huff. She helped herself to a bottle of vodka from behind the bar and poured herself a healthy glass. It wouldn't help with the math, but maybe if she started drinking, she'd eventually get sleepy. She knew that wasn't true though… It had never worked in graduate school, so why would it work now?
> 
> That was when Ulana happened to traipse over to the picture window, wondering idly if the ionized glow was still visible over the reactor or if they'd finally dropped enough boron and sand to blanket it at last. 
> 
> And it's where she saw Boris and Valery kissing for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday everyone! 
> 
> My deepest apologies for the lateness of this chapter. I was unexpectedly busy this weekend, plus I've been feeling a little under the weather, so I fell behind on my editing. But better late than never! 
> 
> Okay... I'll keep this short.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has written comments and left feedback! Y'all give me life.
> 
> Thank you to my beta readers and science advisors! 
> 
> And thanks to you for reading! Enjoy!

***

Charkov had been right. 

That first month had gone by in a dull, numbing haze. But as week after week passed, the weight of guilt and heartache began inexorably to wear on the soul as much as the radiation wore on the body.

Ulana had been fine at first, or at least she convinced herself as such. But now each time she ventured to Moscow to give a talk at Kurchatov, the temptation to be reckless grew and grew until it ravened in the pit of her heart like a starving wolf. To the point that she would have given anything... _Anything_ just to catch sight of Valery's face in a picture on the walls of the institute, or see his name somewhere in a directory, or blessings upon blessings, to see _him_ somewhere in the audience at one of her talks.

But no. It never happened. Kurchatov was bare of his existence. And her lecture halls were always full of strange, bored faces. There were papers on Chernobyl. And news articles. And awards gifted and promotions attained in attachment to that cataclysm, but Ulana never heard or read his name again. It was as if Valery Legasov had never existed at all. Not in Chernobyl. Not in Moscow. Not at Kurchatov. She never saw even a shred his presence again after the trial. 

She always saw Boris though when she would pass through the city. He always made time for her. Dinner and a walk, and if the train schedule allowed, she stayed at his apartment. No point in being shy to the KGB at this point. If they were listening, let them listen. 

They just couldn't talk about Valery. Not that they could bear to anyway. It wasn't a comfort. It just hurt. So in a way, he was gone from their lives too. Just a shadow. A curl of smoke blown away in the wind.

Eventually, she stopped taking so many lectures at Kurchatov, though she still visited Boris on occasion. It was torture at this point to keep going back to the Institute, and she wasn't keen on tormenting herself further. So she kept to her lab in Minsk, which seemed so small after the expansive laboratory that had been Chernobyl. And she realized upon returning that, thanks to her heroic and pleasantly silent involvement, she was given the freedom to pursue any sort of research she wanted.

Save what she actually wanted to research, of course. 

The none-too-subtle implication from the Central Committee was that she should join in the research on nuclear weapons, but that held no lustre for her. She'd had enough of death caused by her research and work for the State, even indirectly. She'd been complicit in killing thousands for the sake of millions. Her hands were bloody enough without adding outright slaughter to her tab.

So she did the only sensible thing. She pursued research that would never be of any use or interest to anyone. No infrastructure or weapons applications. Just reams of data. Pages of equations. All fruitless tail chasing in the name of keeping her mind busy trying to solve arcane but ultimately pointless questions.

And it worked. For awhile, at least.

It worked until it just didn't anymore. Her research wasn't enough. Her visits to Moscow, while lovely, were only a temporary balm for the vacuous ache in her heart. 

It worked until mid-September, when she was gifted a new assistant. The bright-eyed and ill-advisedly curious Svetlana Ivanoshova.

***

**October 2, 1987**

Ulana had fallen asleep at her desk again, and soaked the thin pillow she kept in her drawer for just such an occasion with drool. She could tell without opening her eyes that it was morning. Damn it all… she had meant to only take a few minutes to rest her eyes before continuing her calculations, but… well, it was to be expected eventually. It was a cycle of sorts. One she was admittedly more than accustomed to by now. A few nights a home not sleeping well. One night asleep at her desk for a full 8 hours after she had mathematicked herself into a stupor. Rinse and repeat.

The only downside was the crick in her neck. And sleeping in drool.

She swallows at the stale taste in her mouth and yawns. As she inhales, a wonderfully bitter scent hits her nose and she opens her eyes. A cup of coffee sits steaming on her desk.

"Good morning, Comrade Khomyuk." Svetlana coos with a perky sort of formality from her seat at her desk, her own cup of coffee in hand.

Ulana smiles in spite of herself. "Good morning, Comrade Ivanoshova." she replies, her voice thick with drowsiness.

"I guess you were due for what passes for a good night's sleep."

"Must've been." Ulana lifts her coffee to her lips and barely suppresses a groan. Unlike Dmitri, Svetlana knew how to make good coffee, and Ulana swore that the girl probably used one of their lab scales to add the sugar and cream. It's exact and perfect every time. But there is something that's different. She blinks blearily at her assistant as the caffeine soaks into her brain. "You cut your hair?"

Svetlana runs her fingers through the rich brown curls of her newly shorn bob, which she has bound up in a soft floral scarf. She has lovely hair, long or short, and it blushes like a ruby in the filmy sunlight streaming in the windows. "Do you like it? It's how American girls wear their hair."

Ulana arches a single disapproving eyebrow. "Be careful who you let hear you say that."

"That's why I said it to you." She says with a sweet wrinkling of her nose.

Ulana smiles then. "It suits you." she says before twisting and stretching out her neck again. "It's… today is Wednesday. It is Wednesday, right?"

"It is Wednesday." She confirms. "The data from downstairs should be ready by lunch today."

"Oh good." Ulana takes another long sip of her coffee and scratches at her shoulder where the seams of her blouse had eaten into her skin. 

"I still don't understand why you're going through the trouble to get all this graphed and modeled." Svetlana says.

"We'll need it when we publish is all. The journals like to see that sort of thing. Graphics help sell journals, so we're more likely to see print that way."

There's a critical twist of Svetlana's lips. "It's a lot of work for that to be the only reason."

"It pays to be thorough. Quite literally in this case." Ulana replies, which is the best she can come up with. She knows Svetlana is accusing her of busywork. It's not the first time.

But this time, Svetlana lets it go in favor of a better topic. Something more exciting than their ponderous research. "Oh, you probably didn't see the paper this morning." She says brightly.

"Mm?"

Svetlana holds up a newspaper with a splashy headline written in big blocky letters.

**"CHERNOBYL: THE FULL STORY OF SOVIET SUPREMACY OVER THE ATOM"**

Ulana's eyes go incredibly and involuntarily wide. "Can I see that, please?"

She smiles again, triumphant at having poked her usually taciturn mentor into giving at least some sort of reaction. She frisbees the paper towards her, and Ulana snatches it from the air, immediately shaking it open to the article. 

Svetlana lets Ulana's eyes dance over the article a moment before she rises from her chair. "Are you in the article?" Svetana asks, crossing to read over Ulana's shoulder.

"Yes." she responds, voice a little distant as she continues scanning the columns.

"They said nice things?"

"I…" she starts but then, having reached the end of the article she just sighs and shrugs. "I suppose."

Svetlana frowns, looking at her mentor rather than the paper. "What is it?" She asks carefully.

Ulana waves her off. It is the third time Svetlana has asked about this, always in conjunction with something in the paper. She's learned to be more oblique, aware that the walls around her mentor have ears, no doubt thanks to her celebrity status as the savior of Chernobyl. Usually she would leave it alone, but instead Svetlana takes the paper from her, pacing the length of the lab as she reads over it. 

"They do say nice things about you." She says after a moment. "Listen to this." Svetlana adopts a mockingly officious tone to read from the article. "One of our finest Soviet Scientists, Comrade Ulana Khomyuk of the Byelorusian Institute for Nuclear Energy, masterminded many of the solutions for the malfunctioning reactor. Working heroically and as a shining example of Soviet scientific supremacy, she designed a heat exchanger to stop the nuclear fuel from melting through the concrete barrier beneath it, preventing the poisoning of the groundwater for thousands of kilometers. Comrade Khomyuk also led an early charge of creative thinking and solution finding for the radiation being released into the air, including thousands of helicopter drops of sand and boron onto the open reactor."

"Listen at that!" Svetlana says excitedly. "I didn't know you did all that! You're a regular Soviet folk hero. I'm going to be telling stories about how I once worked for a Soviet hero to my-"

She turns and sees the look on Ulana's face, and Ulana is powerless to hide it. But she lifts her chin and forces a smile to split her face. "I only did what needed to be done for the good and glory of the Soviet Union." she says for the benefit of their invisible audience before holding out her hand for the paper. 

Svetlana gives it to her, the smile fading like a sunset from her face. 

"Could you run downstairs and check to see if those renderings are finished, please?" Ulana says with a gentle sort of blandness. "I'd like to get started on formatting as soon as possible."

"Yes, Comrade." she says, the curious frown not leaving her face as she departs.

Ulana stares down at the passel of printed lies on her desk. More lies. More and more. How had the truth bred more lies? Would they never end? Would the Soviet Union never learn its fucking lesson?

Clearly not. Easier to just keep lying. And lying, and lying, until they finally bury Valery Legasov so deeply everyone just forgets about him. 

But not her. Never Ulana. She won't forget him. She _can't._ He was the hero of Chernobyl, not her. Ulana had just told him when he was being an idiot, and thankfully he'd listened. Well, except for the one time when she told him to _be_ an idiot. She wished he hadn't listened then.

He shouldn't have listened to her. Boris had been right. They'd come after him with a vengeance. But at least they hadn't killed him. At least not that she knew of. Of course, how would she know? He could have died of radiation sickness by now… not that anyone was allowed to give that as a cause of death anymore. Or he could have been shot. The KGB might have just waited so as not to draw attention. 

The thought of him departing this world unmarked and uncelebrated made her sick. It had all been her fault. She should have listened to Boris, fool that she was. They both should have.

All scientists like her were fools. Scientists like Svetlana. And yet all her guilt couldn't drown the feeling that they could make a difference. All their work… all their research… it couldn't be for nothing. It _couldn't_ be. Not if they lived in a just world, as they claimed. A world that venerated science and truth...

She'd seen the way Svetlana's eyes had lit up when she thought her mentor was some kind of life-saving scientific hero. Some brilliant mind working for the good of all, not just some academic collating abstruse research that mattered to no one outside of their lab. Svetlana had seen in that article her own chance to matter. To make a difference.

And it broke Ulana's heart, because she remembered being that girl. 

And deep down, part of her still was that girl. At least… she had been right up until the moment she saw the KGB carry Valery Legasov away for the crime of explaining facts that could save lives.

Ulana stews in that thought for a moment. She seethes and simmers and even sheds a few furious tears. She rattles her fingertips on the newspaper a few times, staring lividly at the lies upon lies printed in cheap black ink, before taking a swig of her coffee and digging around in her desk for a red pen.

When Svetlana returns with the stack of rendered data, the frown hasn't left the assistant's face, but she doesn't press the topic again. Ulana thanks her for the errand and they both set to work on separate tasks. The newspaper is gone from Ulana's desk, and Svetlana doesn't ask about it.

"I'm going to go downstairs to pull some research records from the archive." Ulana announces rather flatly, as she rises stiffly from her seat where she'd worked silently for the last hour. "But we should have lunch out on the lawn today. It's nice outside."

Svetlana's brow pinches again as Ulana produces the newspaper and practically presents it to her with her index finger marking the article they'd discussed earlier. "Yes… that sounds… nice?" Svetlana responds quizzically. It actually looks like it might rain, but she says nothing about it.

"Good. Give me an hour?"

"Of course." Svetlana says, with a vague little nod. Her eyes are still on the newspaper in her hands. She waits until her mentor is out of the room before she opens it, finding the article on Chernobyl covered in red ink, like one of her corrected essays in her primary school history classes. Things redacted and corrected. And a name was scratched in several places. A name Svetlana has never heard before.

_Valery Legasov._

***

The rain clouds are still prowling overhead as the two women find a secluded corner of the institute grounds to have lunch. They are quiet at first, Svetlana not wanting to press and Ulana not knowing where to begin.

But in truth, Ulana knows exactly where to begin. She just hasn't said his name out loud in so long, the syllables feel ungainly on her tongue. Tender and fragile… like a wound that has long since stopped bleeding, but still needs protecting. Almost as if she's afraid of speaking his name will do further injury. Better to keep silent. It's the only way to be safe…

She can't, of course. She's piqued Svetlana's insatiable curiosity. There's no going back now.

"As you've probably gathered, they have left someone out of this article." Ulana says after they had begun eating. "His name is Valery Legasov. He's a nuclear scientist at the Kurchatov Institute in Moscow. And he was the true hero of Chernobyl. Not me. And not anyone listed in that article. He had help. I don't mean to make it seem like he didn't. I did in fact come to their rescue and keep them from accidentally blowing up the bubbler pools. And I did a great deal of research and conducted interviews that served as evidence against the plant management. But he was the hero. He and Comrade Deputy Chairman Boris Shcherbina."

"I… I see Comrade Chairman Shcherbina's name here." Svetlana says, swiping her thumb down the doctored article. "But… what… happened? If Valery Legasov is really the one who did all this, then what… how…"

"He listened to me when I told him to go public about a flaw we discovered in the reactor." Ulana replied, her voice kept close so the words stayed between them. "A flaw kept hidden as a state secret. Something that had already claimed the career of one of Comrade Legasov's colleagues when they spoke out about it a decade ago."

"A flaw?" Svetlana draws up at that. "What-?"

"I'm not going to tell you about the flaw, and if you know what's good for you, you won't go digging." Ulana cut her off. "The Central Committee knows about the flaw and they will do something or nothing about it as they see fit."

Svetlana deflates a little, her shoulders sagging.

"But I will tell you about Valery Legasov." Ulana says in a placating tone. "If you want your hero of Chernobyl, I will tell you about him."

"He really did all this?" Svetlana's eyes scroll over the article as she turns the paper over in her hands.

"And then some." Ulana says, finally smiling, though the expression is a sad and wrung out thing. 

"The sand and boron? That wasn't you?"

"I wasn't even there yet." Ulana replies with a cynical smile. "I was still here trying frantically to get someone to listen to me about the rising radiation levels in the air."

Svetlana's eyes blow wide with shock. "You detected the radiation here? All the way from Chernobyl that quickly?"

"Dmitri came in that morning after the accident. It had been… maybe eight hours? He opened the lab window and every dosimeter in the lab went ballistic." Ulana says, a strange smile on her face. 

"How did you determine that it wasn't a leak?"

"I had slept in the lab that night." Ulana replies looking just a shade contrite.

Svetlana laughs knowingly at that, but gestures for her mentor to continue.

"I swabbed the window when we figured out it was coming from outside and ran it through the spectrometer."

"And that's how you knew it wasn't an attack…" Svetlana says. "It would have been… iodine-131? Right?

"And nothing else. So we knew it wasn't a waste dump."

"Sate my morbid curiosity. What was the dosimeter reading?"

"Inside the lab? Eight milliroentgen per hour. I imagine outside was much higher, but I didn't have the heart to check."

"Wow… that's..."

"Dangerous." Ulana finishes for her. "So I started calling plants. Ignalina first, and they were as confused and panicked as I was. Then Chernobyl. They were the next closest. I didn't even suspect anything was wrong there. I was just curious if they'd heard something."

"And?" she presses.

"And no one picked up the phone."

Svetlana blinks. "Just… no one picked up the phone? Were they-"

"The phone lines had already been cut." Ulana answers with a grim press of her mouth.

Svetlana's face sours. "So you went to Chernobyl after that?"

"No, I first went to the party headquarters to try and reason with them that something terrible had happened at Chernobyl and that they should evacuate the city. But they stonewalled me. Idiots. So then I started digging on my own. Looking at blueprints and making phone calls. That was when I found out about the sand and boron. And the bubbler pools."

"Bubbler pools?" Svetlana frowns and scans the article. "You mentioned that before. That's not even..."

"Indeed it isn't." She replies giving an unimpressed arch of an eyebrow. "There's a lot left out of there. And if you'd like, I'll tell you about it. And about Valery Legasov."

Svetlana's face practically glows at the idea as she sets the purposefully erroneous article aside. "Please do."

***

**May 2, 1986**

The bar downstairs in the Polissia Hotel still had some patronage, even this late at night. Soldiers. Officers. Plant workers. All of them with nothing else to do but try to wash the radiation out of their system with vodka. But unbeknownst to most of the men who lived in the trailer and tent city set up outside of Pripyat, there was a second bar in the Polissia up on the fourth floor. Smaller, but with its own fully stocked bar and a wonderful view of the courtyard outside the hotel. 

That's where Ulana found herself that fifth night in the warzone, scratching out equations for energy production on cocktail napkins because as per usual she couldn't sleep. It was very nearly midnight now at the end of one of the longest days of Ulana's life, though she couldn't really be sure. All the days were running together. She'd prepared for massive dissertations. Written papers with ridiculously short deadlines. Run experiments around the clock to crank out data necessary for presentations she'd been asked to give on frighteningly short notice. 

But life at Chernobyl? There'd been nothing like it in her purely academic world up to now. There'd been nothing like this kind of tired. It was not just sleeplessness. It was a weighing exhaustion that never abated. Before now, no human lives had hung directly on her decisions or on her ability to solve a problem. And that was exactly the issue now. She had a problem she couldn't solve.

_Why did it explode?_

On paper, she could make the core melt down to the groundwater in half a dozen different ways. She could rupture fuel rod channels or fry the motors in the control rods. Blow the control system tank and burst coolant pipes. But she couldn't make the damn thing do what it did. There was no way. It wasn't physically possible… except that it was. It had to be because that's what had happened. So that only meant it wasn't mathematically possible... 

But what the hell did that _mean?_

She set her pencil down harder than she'd meant to and stood from the barstool in something of a frustrated huff. She helped herself to a bottle of vodka from behind the bar and poured herself a healthy glass. It wouldn't help with the math, but maybe if she started drinking, she'd eventually get sleepy. She knew that wasn't true though… It had never worked in graduate school, so why would it work now?

That was when Ulana happened to traipse over to the picture window, wondering idly if the ionized glow was still visible over the reactor or if they'd finally dropped enough boron and sand to blanket it at last. 

And it's where she saw Boris and Valery kissing for the first time. 

The two men had ducked into a shadow created by a decorative wall and a tall, shaggy evergreen tree. She'd only seen them because she knew the outline of Boris's greatcoat so well she could practically see it behind her closed eyelids. His stern silhouette was a fixture of her daily life now, as was Valery acting as his biddable shadow. And so it was a shock to watch the towering apparatchik fold his burly, unyielding frame down over Valery and kiss him, his freckled face pressed tenderly between his hands. 

It was quick. Just a short reprieve there in the shadows. Hardly worth noticing but for the participants. Hardly worth the risk as well, but a kiss taken in the open air was different than one stolen in the cloistered dark. Ulana knew this, and she didn't grudge them their pleasures. 

But rather she felt… strange as she watched it. Not jealous really, and certainly not disdainful. What others did or wanted to do was never her business to judge, but… Perhaps "protective" was the most accurate word, if more than a little inexact. Despite having barely known them a week, she wanted to be there with them. Perhaps kissing one of them… perhaps not. Perhaps just sharing a part of that space. It hadn't really occurred to her until the moment she saw them together, but they seemed so fragile. And stranger still, they seemed more fragile together. The softness and vulnerability she saw between them was like a pane of sugar glass. 

She wanted to protect it.

And inexplicably, she wanted to set her teeth in it.

But instead, she did her best to shake off the sight and its attendant veil of confusing and conflicting emotions like a dog shaking off water. She downed her vodka and smartly turned on her heel, returning to her pile of cocktail napkins covered in half-finished and wholly unsatisfying equations. And she stalwartly pretended she saw nothing.

Some time later she heard the door at the back of the bar open with a tinny click. For a brief moment she wondered who had stumbled upon her hiding place, but a brief flare of her nostrils caught the scent of cigarette smoke in the air.

Legasov it was, then. He was the only one that smoked enough to be sensed from the doorway.

She felt her face flush for reasons other than the vodka. She'd always been a terrible bluffer, but she hoped she could hide the fact that she had seen them together, so she barely looked up when he approached. But he didn't seem to mind. He strolled right up next to her, reaching across where she was working and upending a glass for himself and filling both hers and his before she could say a word.

There was a breath of silence stretched so tightly that the air practically vibrated between them. And Ulana could barely stand it. Before he'd even picked up his glass to drink, she slid the latest spectrograph reading across the bartop to him.

"You've seen that?" she asked, still not looking at him. "The fuel is melting faster than we expected."

Valery propped himself on a barstool, also quite studiously not making eye contact. "I know. I have a plan." he said before taking a healthy mouthful of vodka.

"Heat exchanger, I hope." Ulana opined, sounding a little sniffy in her own ears. But better to sound distant and critical than… well, literally anything else she felt at that moment. She still wasn't looking at him.

"Yes." came the equally curt reply and it almost made her wince. 

But then Valery turned, leaning over to look at the equations she was scratching onto her napkins in her neat but cramped handwriting. And only then did he finally look her in the face, and irresistibly garner her attention with his next statement. "There's something I've wanted to ask you, Comrade, but I see you're already asking yourself the same question."

Ulana did stop then. There was something unshielded about his tone… a vulnerability that pulled at something in her. The same something that tugged at her gut when she'd seen Boris kiss him in the courtyard. 

Carefully, she set down her pencil and peeled her glasses from her face. Almost as if she were taking off her own armor to face him. "Why did it explode?" she said, making their shared question a fatigued and frustrated statement.

He gave the faintest nod, eyes still locked on her face as if she were some sort of oracle that could bring forth an answer by the simple act of asking a question.

Ulana hoped that he thought the pink in her cheeks was vodka. She really did.

But she forced herself to meet his eyes, and to hold his gaze even as she shook her head. "I've worked the numbers over and over, presuming the worst possible conditions in an RBMK reactor. And I always get the same answer."

"Which is?"

"It's not possible."

"And yet?"

For the briefest moment, Ulana felt as if she were back at university talking to an overly Socratic professor. But she didn't feel demeaned by Legasov, or talked down to. Rather, with his questions and his prodding, he had an undeniable way about him that greased the wheels in the heads of everyone around him. He even had Shcherbina spouting off formulas and facts as if he'd actually taken basic nuclear physics. There was a warmth to his prodding. And a sort of… encouraging and empowering unity. Especially now. 

They were all in this mess together. All together and asking the same question. Well, they were asking it when they weren't trying to prevent bubbler tanks from exploding and killing everyone in Kiev, or trying to stop wildly fissioning uranium from melting down and poisoning the Black Sea. Only at night, when they couldn't sleep were they able to ask this question. For all the good that asking did them...

Legasov pressed his lips together, as if he were weighing his next statement carefully. As if some part of him wasn't quite ready to say it yet, even though he knew it was what was best. Ulana found herself sitting forward in anticipation, almost as though he were holding a starting pistol. Again there was that sense of empowerment. Legasov made her feel capable in a way no one else ever had. Not that she'd ever doubted her abilities, but it was more that camaraderie and collaboration with him gave her even greater assurance that this puzzle had an answer. And that she could be the one to answer it. Whatever he was about to ask her, she was more than able and willing to do it.

"You're not going to solve this here." He said gently. "Not on paper. Everyone who was in the control room. Dyatlov. Akimov. Toptunov. They're all in Moscow. Hospital Number Six."

Ulana blinked and fought a frown. Wait, what was he suggesting? That was not the direction she'd expected this conversation to go at all.

"We need to find out exactly what happened that night, moment by moment, decision by decision." He went on when he saw the confusion crease her face. "Go now while they're still alive. Talk to them. Because if we don't find out how this happened, it will happen again."

Legasov finished his glass of vodka, and Ulana took a moment to process the instructions he was giving her. He was sending her away? To basically be a journalist? An investigator? Now, she did feel like she was being treated with kid gloves. Being coddled and overprotected. At least, until he set those pale eyes on her again. Something unsettling and magnetic crawled around in his gaze.

"And Comrade Khomyuk?" he said, chewing a little on his formality. "Be careful."

And then he turned on his heel and strode back towards the elevator, the sincerity of his words ringing like hammer falls in the stale air.

Ulana let him go at first. Watched him walk away as his words reeled in her head.

Be careful? _Be careful?_ What an absurd thing to say at a time like this. In a _place_ like this. The danger was here, spewing in great gouts out of an open pit of radioactive sludge. And here he was sending her to Moscow? One of the safest places for her, truth be told and he was telling _her_ to be careful? 

But something in his voice… something in those earnest eyes told her that he was far more worried about sending her to Moscow. And Valery Legasov was many things, but unduly paranoid was not one of them. What was in Moscow that she need fear? The KGB? She would be investigating a disaster of the highest order at the behest of the Central Committee! Who were they to impede her? And if not the KGB, then who? Was Gorbachev himself going to come follow her around the hospital? It made less sense than the half finished equations on her napkins.

Still… his warning rang in her heart like the peal of a bell.

_Be careful._

It was not said idly. And not just because he was concerned for a colleague.

She finished her vodka in a single pull of her mouth and headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time so she met Legasov on his floor before he had his room unlocked. He looked mildly surprised to see her, but let her catch her breath before fixing her with a rather bemused raise of his eyebrow.

"You said to be careful." she said, panting a little and trying not to swoon as the alcohol soaked into her racing blood.

"I did." he confirmed, words and face alike were incredibly guarded. "I want you to be."

"How can any of us be careful in this situation? We're sitting mere kilometers away from an open nuclear reactor that's pouring radiation into the air by the bomb's worth."

"There are more acute dangers than the reactor if you go to Moscow."

"So you at least admit it?" she asked. "You're aware of what's going to happen to us because we are here."

"Of course I'm aware, Ulana." He paused, tongue sneaking out across his lip as if to lick up the casual use of her name in apology.

But her eyes went soft at it. They were in this together after all. All of it.

Valery gave a dry cough of humorless laughter. "You should have heard how I told Shcherbina. All the tact of a brick to the face."

“How did you say it?”

“We were arguing about evacuation and he pointed out that we were staying. And I said yes we were and told him we'd be dead in five years.”

A papery smile pulled at Ulana's mouth. "What did he say?"

"Nothing."

"Well, that's a first."

"It was." Valery matched her smile then, looking at her with a peculiar expression. "Would you… like to come in, or…" he trailed off, unsure how to finish the thought without seeming overt. He wasn't even sure what he was asking, but she'd chased him all the way up here. Maybe she just wanted some company too. And Boris was already in bed, nursing a headache. 

Valery tried not to think about what that meant.

Her answer was to push past him into his room, which looked much like hers. Papers with equations and formulas on every flat surface. Even the bed.

Valery followed after her, sweeping up his calculations so they would have a place to sit. But she didn't sit. She walked over to the table to see what he was working on and the first thing she noticed was a dosimeter sitting on the makeshift desk. It was plugged into the wall and running, the alarm obviously silenced permanently. 

"Why, Comrade Legasov?" she asked nodding to it. "What good does it do to know at this stage?"

"Knowing is one thing." he replied, dropping the handful of papers on the table and tugging off his jacket. "Seeing is another. You should know that by now. And…" he trailed off.

"And?" she prompted. 

"And it's Valery. We're all in the thick of it now. Unless…"

"No, you're right, Valery." Ulana could practically taste the name on her lips. But she didn't let it linger. She shouldn't, so she instead distracted herself by peering more closely at the reading on the dosimeter. 5.1 roentgen. "Is this why you're sending me away?"

Valery frowned a little as he lit a cigarette. He took a studious drag before he spoke, his words visible in the air between them. "Is that how it appears?"

She lifted one shoulder. "You tried to talk me out of staying when I first arrived. I feel it's a reasonable possibility. May I?" She gestured for a cigarette from the pack still in his hand.

"Of course." Valery pulled a smoke out as he guided her over to the edge of his bed. It was a strange thing to do with the couch right there. Though it was still covered in papers, so she followed, watching as he set his own smoke in the ashtray, pinched a fresh cigarette between his fingers, and raised it to his lips to light it. As he passed it to her, he cut his eyes towards the table and lowers his voice. "It's dangerous here."

She took his meaning with a slow nod of her head. His room is bugged? Perhaps they should be in her room then… assuming that it wasn't bugged as well of course. Would they be that paranoid?

It was the KGB. Of course they would. But… why? What they were doing here was trying to save the Soviet people. What could possibly...

"And it's dangerous in Moscow. Or you wouldn't have told me to be careful." She took a drag, feeling a strange flutter in her chest at the dampness of his mouth clinging to the filter. There was that thrill again. That protective instinct. The one to be close to them… it rolled over in her ribs like a caged animal.

"It's a different sort of dangerous there. If they're following us here, you can bet they'll be following you there." he said. "But at least it's the avoidable sort of dangerous there. Not like here."

"I don't like going if you're staying." she said, doing her best not to sound petulant.

"I don't like it either." Valery said with a firm shake of his head. "I like you being here. You argue with Boris on my behalf. And you're smarter than me on anything that has to do with engineering. I need that. But someone has to go. Someone has to talk to the plant personnel before it's too late. And it needs to be someone who knows what to look for and the right questions to ask regarding operation and safety practice. Someone who will know when something seems off or doesn't make sense, because time is not on our side. And I'm sorry, but that someone has to be you."

"But why?"

"Well for one, can you imagine Comrade Shcherbina trying to interview possibly guilty and dying plant workers? It would be like weeding a garden with a sledgehammer."

Ulana laughed and so did he, both of them puffing spent smoke like coal trains. And he smiled at her then, his eyes just barely catching hers at the corners. Ulana noticed then that he had a sweet face. A boyish face, truth be told, in spite of his age and his craggy skin. A face not meant for places like this and times like these… but that smile? It was meant for that.

The moment passed too quickly. "I'd go myself. I even asked to, but the Kremlin _determined,_" He chewed on the word like a piece of gristle. "That I am more valuable here managing emergency efforts. And perhaps they're right, but what they aren't considering is that we need to find out what happened. Not just how to fix it."

Ulana nodded then. "Can't leave Comrade Shcherbina unsupervised. He might eat someone he doesn't like."

"Then he'd have eaten me up before you ever arrived." Valery said, a strangely sweet smile splitting his face. Fond and warm, and not at all suited for the situation or conversation at hand. Ulana could see him replaying some argument… some altercation behind his blue eyes. And probably that kiss she'd seen too.

And by way of confirmation, when he saw her watching, he suddenly looked stricken and guilty, and hid it very poorly, even in the dark of the room. He actually visibly shook himself before carrying on. "So you'll go to Moscow for me then?" 

Ulana nodded, peering curiously at his expression. Maybe it was best that she go to work in Moscow. Valery clearly had no ability to hide expression or intent. And he was clearly drowning in panic, realizing he may or may not have confirmed something with that offhanded quip. Though truthfully, if she hadn't spied him and Boris earlier in the evening he would truly have nothing to worry about. 

So after a moment's deliberation, she took pity on him and laid her hand over his where it rested on the bedspread. "Yes, of course." And then she dropped the volume of her voice to a whisper. "It's alright. About you and Shcherbina."

He looked positively sick, eyes shuttering in agony. "How do you know?" he hissed, the words barely audible.

"I saw you just now. Out in the courtyard."

Valery looked mortified. "Oh God."

"It's alright, Valery." She said with a calming half-smile as she patted his hand. "It's… a strange circumstance for a burgeoning romance, but who am I to judge. 

"It's… it's not… I mean… It's not-"

"What? A romance?" she said, taking a quick pull on her cigarette. "Seemed quite romantic to me out there in the moonlight."

"Ulana!" he said, that smile returning along with a scandalized widening of his eyes. 

Her hand stayed over his and that protective feeling returned. She wanted him happy. Both of them really. Happy and at peace with themselves and their decisions. 

And she wanted…

Well, it didn’t matter.

"I should be off." she said taking one final drag on her cigarette before lightly crushing it into the ashtray on the bedside table. "I've got to pack if I'm to catch a train out of Kiev tomorrow."

Suddenly, it was his hand covering hers. A shift and a curl of his fingers to hold her in place. "Stay." he said suddenly, his tone wrung as if he'd shocked himself with the request..

She drew up a little in surprise and she gathered her voice to her so as to be certain they were not overheard. "I'll not be your cover, Valery. I'll do many things for you, but not that."

He shook his head so hard Ulana thought his glasses might fly off his head. "No, no… just…"

She cocked her head. "Stay?"

"Yes."

"But… Shcherbina?"

"His idea."

Her eyes grew wide at the incongruity of it all. "His idea? What are you two playing at, Valery?"

Valery let his feet shuffle on the floor, unable to look up at her. He stubbed out his cigarette roughly as he spoke, grinding it into the ashtray aggressively by way of distraction. "Boris says my eyes hang on you like hair hangs on a dog. And he says that I'm shit at asking for what…" he paused and heaved a deep breath. "At asking for what I want. So…"

She blinked twice. Where was he going with this? 

"So?" she prompted.

He forced his eyes up to her face, and he suddenly looked impossibly young again. And for a moment Ulana could picture him at university. Young and uncertain, but wanting… and unable to find his voice. But he was able to now. Shaky and uncertain, but it was there. "Stay?" he said, meek as a lamb. "Please? Before you go?"

"Yes. Alright." She said before she could even think to deny him. It surprised her if she was being honest. Her response and… well, Valery was so heartrendingly sweet like this, when he would ask for things. Almost like he wasn't good at. Had not had enough practice. Certainly not enough practice to be clear, and now more than ever she wanted to be clear. "What is it you want exactly? Another drink? Another cigarette..."

"May I kiss you?" He said, the words coming too quickly and he swallowed hard as if he could pull them back. But she didn't see regret in his eyes. Only uncertainty. Not for his wants, but for hers.

Ulana thought she had best allay those concerns quickly. She let her hand play up the sleeve of his shirt until she could cup his face, and when he turned his cheek to her palm she felt that strange protectiveness flowering again somewhere between her ribs. He was sweet, this man. Infuriating and unthinking sometimes. But sweet. 

She reached up with her other hand and took his glasses off his face, folding them carefully and laying them next to the ashtray where she set aside her cigarette. Then she brought her other hand up to his other cheek, smoothing the careworn lines of his face as he involuntarily drew closer to her.

"Ulana…" her name tasted of smoke spoken so close to her own mouth.

"You may kiss me, Valery." she said, a playful smile curling her mouth like a kitten's tail. "If that's what you want."

"I want…" 

That was a full statement, as it turned out.

Where Ulana had been expecting a soft, restrained, and most likely dry-lipped peck on the mouth, this was nothing of the sort. He licked greedily into her mouth from the first press of lips and she had to swallow down a little noise of pleasant surprise. Her hands slipped into the feather soft strands of his pale red hair as she welcomed the intrusion. He was bold when he took what he wanted. That both surprised and enthralled her. 

Then he drew back as quickly as he'd begun, squinting at her in the dark to gauge her reaction. She grinned at him partly amazed and partly intrigued at the turn of events. "That all you wanted?" she goaded lightly, a smile tugging at her kiss-stained lips.

Apparently not. Valery kissed her with wild abandon after that. All shyness gone. All deference and uncertainty melted like snow in the late spring sun. He kissed her hungrily… almost savagely. So much so that Ulana would have laughed for the unbridled joy of it, had his tongue not been busy stroking hers.

His hands were busy too, and just as bold and insistent as his tongue. His fingers dug into her flesh through the thin material of her dress. She moved closer to him across the mattress, her fingers gliding down over his convulsing throat to smooth his tie. She drew back then, fingers tangling with the material, a question in her eyes.

_Where are we going with this?_

Valery stilled and seemed to waver for a moment. His wants were perched behind his teeth, Ulana could practically taste them in his kiss. It occurred to her to press… to prod… maybe even to guess, but she knew somehow he needed to ask. Boris Shcherbina might've not known shit about nuclear reactors, but he knew people. That was for damn sure. And if he thought Valery needed to ask, then she was not going to argue.

Valery's hands were still as he deliberated, but they stayed on her. "I want…" He paused and bit his lip. "I want to see you without your dress on…"

She cupped his face again and kissed him by way of reward. "Well good. Because I want to see you without this suit covering you up, and one without the other would be a little unfair, don't you agree?" She said rather coyly.

He smiled through his bewilderment at that, and Ulana could be forgiven for thinking that dawn had come several hours early. Valery's whole face lit up when he really smiled like this, and even in the sparse light of the tiny hotel room his eyes fairly sparkled. He kissed her again, warm and familiar now as he pushed the sweater from her shoulders and started in on the little buttons that fastened the front of her dress. He fumbled with them, but Ulana pushing at his suspenders fueled him.

If only there were a way to trick him out of his insecurity…

Let it never be said that Ulana and Boris couldn't cooperate. Even unknowingly.

"When did you first think about it?" she asked, nuzzling along his jawline as she busied herself with the knot in his tie.

"With you?"

"No, with Shcherbina." she cut back dryly, tugging him in for a nipping kiss. "Yes, with me!"

Valery laughed then, a nervous little titter of sound and Ulana wanted to eat it from his mouth, but she refrained and let him speak. "Honestly… it was when I saw you walking with Boris back from the trailers. You had tripped…" His eyes glazed a little as she pulled his tie free and tossed it on the sofa.

"And I caught his arm." she finished for him, cocking her head as she undid his buttons. "Why then? We'd only just met."

"I just… It wasn't… sexual really. It was just… You had come to us and decided to stay. There was no driving Boris off at that point. And just… I don't know. I felt connected to both of you in that moment… And that night… Boris and I, well we… we…" he faltered.

But she picked up the slack. "Fucked." she supplied crisply, kissing the word into his jumping pulse.

He did laugh then, her coarseness loosing a surprised little cough of a chuckle as he finally unbuttoned the last of her buttons. But he didn't push the dress from her shoulders. Not yet. He cupped her face again instead. "You don't have to stay here." he told her earnestly. "Once you've conducted your interviews in Moscow, you can-"

"Don't finish that sentence, Valery." she said scoldingly, seizing his hands in hers. "I said I was staying and I'm staying. I'll be back when I'm done in Moscow. I'm not leaving you two to do this by yourselves. I can't."

A frown furrowed its way across Valery's brow for an instant and his fingers buried themselves in her clothes, clenching as he fought to keep from pulling her to him. "Ulana…"

Ulana read it for what it was. "You don't want me to leave."

He shook his head, not looking up at her. "No."

"Aren't you supposed to be asking me for what you want?"

"I… did…"

"Well, best get to it then." she said with a wicked smile on her lips before she pressed them against his.

Valery didn't need to be told twice. The dress was on the floor in an instant, followed by her nylons. Her bra clasp gave him some trouble, twisted as the hooks were by wear, but he managed well enough. She had finished with his buttons too, and was busily tugging his shirttails free when they both spilled across the bed.

Something crinkled under Ulana's back, and she reached beneath herself to find a now crumpled sheet of equations. They exchanged humoring smiles before Valery snatched it from her hand to toss it away before kissing her again.

He felt so solid under her hands, she noticed. Not like the frail, uncertain man he purported to be during the day. Without that baggy suit and his too-large glasses making him look small and shrunken, he was stocky and strong. His fingers dug into her skin. His weight pressed her into the bed. It was unexpectedly wonderful to find him not nearly so frangible as he seemed.

"Valera…" she whispered against his throat, loving the sweet sound he made in response.

"I want…" But rather than finish he planted kisses along her throat.

"Go on." She encouraged when he faltered.

"I want to be inside you, Ulya." He said, his voice gone husky as he pulled her closer to him.

"You say that like you think I might tell you no."

"I wouldn't blame you if-"

He'd started to draw in on himself as he spoke, but Ulana was having none of that. She threaded one hand through his hair and pulled him to her. "I want that too." She said plainly. "Finish getting undressed for me and I'm all yours."

He nodded, clearly somewhat grateful for instruction as he kissed her and rose from the bed. His movements weren't exactly graceful, but then again he didn't seem keen to take his time, and Ulana certainly agreed with that sentiment. She rid herself of her underwear, and as Valery was stripping down, she started to touch herself.

It started as no more than lazy strokes over the lips of her pussy, testing to see how wet she already was. There was definitely some work to be done, but perhaps her subconscious had been thinking about this more than she realized because she was already off to such a great start. Especially when Valery paused, pants in hand to watch as she touched herself. His lips were parted and his tongue snuck out to taste his bottom lip and his pale blue eyes were fixed on the movements of her hand.

Ulana gave a luxuriant little stretch that honestly felt a little ridiculous at her age. It had been years since anyone had looked at her the way Valery Legasov was looking at her now, but she couldn't deny she was enjoying it.

"You know I'd much prefer if you were doing this." she said with a kittenish curl of her mouth.

"I suppose… there is a first time for everything?"

"First time?" She said, eyebrows peaking. "You've never been with a woman?"

"Not since my years in undergrad." He said, passing his pants back and forth nervously from hand to hand. He'd stopped looking at her, eyes on the floor… the baseboards… the ashtray… anywhere but her face. He was drawing in on himself again. “Just… the once. She… seemed in a rush to get things done before her roommate returned? I think I was a bit of a disappointment.”

_Gracious,_ she though. Had he been this shy with Boris too? Or was Boris such a bull in bed that he simply hadn't allowed him to?

"You do want this?" she asked carefully and clearly.

"Yes." came the desperate whisper along with a sudden cut of his eyes to her face.

"Then take off your underwear and let me give you what you want."

It didn't take more encouraging than that. He finished stripping down and climbed into bed, letting Ulana direct him to lie between her legs. She hitched up one knee as she drew him close and kissed him. He was obviously aroused, his cock standing straight up and flushed a ripe, rosy red. But he still had a bit of a hunch to his shoulders. So she kissed him. She kissed him and kissed him until she felt him falling pliant across her body. Until he moaned into her mouth and his hands grew a mind of their own. 

And one followed hers down between her legs. She guided him but he needed very little help. And none of it verbal. Just the location of her clit, and when he found it he gave it a few little rocking and circling motions that had her moaning hotly against his open mouth. She let him take it from there, giving him freedom to explore. His fingers slipped down to rub at the slick entrance of her pussy. His hand trembled then to feel how wet he was making her, just a fine quaver as he dipped no more than the pad of his finger into the silken heat of her body.

It was his turn to moan then, and Ulana pulled back to watch all sorts of wicked fantasies dance behind his eyes. "That's it." she encouraged. "Keep going."

Valery rocked his finger over her opening again, curling the tip over her clit and watching with fascination as she chased the sensation. He set up a rhythm with that motion watching her carefully, his gaze gone keen and hungry as he catalogued every reaction. Every whimper and sigh and shudder of her hips. 

Ulana felt herself blushing under the attention, suddenly more than a little self conscious herself, but that feeling burned to ash the second he set his mouth to one of her breasts. Oh his tongue was clever here too. Wickedly clever as he licked and sucked at the sensitive little nub until it stood pert and upright. 

And his hand never stopped. She chased it, hoping the insistent bucking of her hips would give him some idea of how crazy his gentleness was driving her, but finally she just grabbed his elbow and ground herself down onto his fingers. He let two slip a little deeper into the cleft of her body, the growing slickness there easing the way for him. He moaned again and ground his hips against the mattress if only to take the edge off. 

"Curl your fingers just a little, Valera. Just as you draw them out." she whispered, her voice gone raw and husky. He did as she asked and stars burst across her vision. "Yes, that's it… that's it, darling." she encouraged. "Oh… oh oh…"

Valery moaned against her skin. Whether it was from the feeling of her body working around and beneath his, his hips rutting shallowly against the bed, or the endearments that bedecked her words, Ulana couldn't say. She couldn't really think straight anyway. Not with his fingers slowly pumping inside her with such precision. God, he took instruction criminally well. He was giving her exactly what she needed. She didn't even need to prompt anymore. Just a tug on his elbow and his fingers would slip deeper. He'd gotten his thumb on her clit now and was working it in those tight circles again just like before. Fuck, but he was clever...

"Don't stop." she hissed, feeling the molten ecstasy that had been simmering in her core beginning to truly bubble up now. It came on quick. Quicker than she'd anticipated, and it was as if her blood flashed to boiling in an instant that had her bucking against his hand.

"Ulya…" Her name was all the coherence he could summon as he watched her fall apart in his hands. She arched. She moaned. She gripped his arm so tight that her nails left little half-moons in his freckled skin. And for a moment she seemed to freeze, all save her hips which twitched in little shallow thrusts against his hand.

And Valery watched it all with wide, curious eyes. He didn't seem quite sure what to do, though he understood what he'd done well enough. What he'd given her. Ulana smoothed her hand over the little red marks she'd left when she'd dug in her nails, and he kept stroking her, shallowly like at the start.

"Should I…" Valery started. "Can I…"

"Ask me for what you want, Valera." she said, cupping his face.

His jaw flexed as he bit down on the words at first. But after a steadying breath he forced himself to speak. "I want to be inside you… I want… God, Ulya, please."

She spread her legs wider, drawing him up over her. "Like this?"

"However you want it. I want… I want it to be good for you." he said uncertainly as his old fears of inadequacy began to creep back in. "You'll… help me? Won't you?" She could see him playing that past encounter on the tape reel behind his eyes.

"Yes, Valera." she said, kissing him until the slouch in his shoulders was gone again. She manipulated him until his cock lay flush against the crease of her hip, and she rocked him there, letting him grind and rut and chase his own pleasure. And when his breathing started to catch and a beautiful flush started to work its way up under his freckles, she pushed on his hips just so, lining them up and let him sink inside her.

"Oh…" he whimpered, sounding completely enraptured as the heat of her body enveloped him. "Oh Ulya… oh…"

When he was fully sheathed inside her he trembled like a wild animal caught in a snare. Eyes pinched closed and mouth agape. Every muscle in his body was drawn taught as he quaked in her arms.

"Breathe, Valera." she coaxed, threading her fingers into his hair and trying to think beyond the haze of her own pleasure. Valery was not greatly endowed, but his cock, with its own smattering of pale freckles was thick and gifted of a slight arch, just perfect for stroking that spot he'd found with his fingers earlier. She had a difficult time not urging him on or bucking up to meet him, but he seemed to be so enraptured, she could do nothing else but watch, feeling him throb steadily inside her.

God, this was everything she could have hoped for. He was so sweet and so earnest. He followed her instructions to the letter, sucking in a harsh breath and letting it hiss out through clenched teeth. But the next was less stricken… and the next… and the next… Until he finally relaxed over her, bending to catch her lips in his as he rolled his hips against her.

It was her turn to moan. He felt heavy inside her and so deep. His instincts had taken over quickly and just as with his hands, he set up a steady even rhythm between her legs.

"Like this?" He asked her, body still working over hers.

"Does it feel good to you?"

"God, yes…"

"Then don't stop."

"Can I…" he stopped, biting his lips. "I want to come inside you."

"I want that too." she said, finally folding her limbs around him and rocking her hips in time to his.

He didn't last all that long. Ulana could feel him starting to come unwound as his rhythm faltered and tiny helpless sounds escaped his throat without him even realizing he was making them. And she could feel him tensing as he tried to hold back. She grabbed his hand, putting his thumb on her clit. He took up the motion again as if he'd done the task all his life.

"Are... you…" Valery ground out.

"Almost…" she whispered, her words humid against his throat. "Almost, Valera… I…"

Her "almost" turned over to "now" in a flash. One particularly forceful thrust had her tumbling over the edge with such suddenness it stole her breath and her voice. She could do nothing but buck up to where he split her open, her nails eating into his skin again. 

Valery went rigid over her as well. Her inner walls clutched up tight around him and he suddenly found himself a slave to the sensation of warm and wet and so so tight. He came with a shocked little moan, holding her tight against him as she fairly wrung the orgasm out of him.

He stayed on top of her, kissing her neck and burying his face in her hair until his cock finally slipped out of her. But even then he barely raised up off of her. Just enough to look at her in awe.

"That was…"

"Not to stroke your ego, because it needs no help, but I think you lied to me, Valera."

His brow pinched. "What?"

She kissed him lightly and playfully. "You certainly seemed to know what you were doing."

"You showed me." He said simply, his hand coming up to cup her face. 

"You wanted me to." she countered. "I just gave you what you wanted."

He smiled then, that impossible youth lighting his face like candles on a Christmas tree.

"Let me up." she whispered, kissing his cheek fondly. "I need to use the bathroom and get us a towel."

He let her go take care of those things, and when she returned, she found him still naked, splayed out on the sheets with a freshly lit cigarette between his fingers. She'd already wiped herself down, but she offered him a hand towel which he accepted gratefully.

"Would you like me to stay, or would you like me to go?" she asked simply, taking care to keep the question as neutral as possible. 

Valery regarded her, puffing a long column of smoke into the air as he did so. "What do you want?" he asked. "You've been asking me all night, but I didn't really ask you."

She considered it. "I would like to stay. At least for a little while, seeing as I'm leaving in the morning."

Valery gave a little nod before and pulling back the covers. She took the invitation without further comment.

They laid there together, Valery quietly smoking and her playing her fingers through his sparse chest hair. It was companionable. It was _comfortable._ Neither wanted to be anywhere else. But there was a strange tension all the same.

What was happening? They were clearly both puzzling over it, but like the issue with the explosion of the reactor, it was a question with seemingly no answer. At least none they could assign from their current vantage point. And not even equations on paper would gain them anything here.

"How did you figure it out?" Valery asked instead, fingers skating over the line of her waist. "You never told us exactly how you figured out the reactor was open. Just that you had detected radiation in Minsk."

Ulana smiled, propping her head up on her fist as she allowed herself to half lie across Valery's chest. "Well… the night of April 26th, I slept in my lab."

"In your lab?" he asked, frowning slightly. 

"I had fallen asleep at my desk actually. Happens all the time."

"You work too hard." Valery said, pushing an errant lock of her hair behind her ear.

Her smile grew teeth as she pressed even closer. "That's exactly what my assistant, Dmitri, said when he came in and found me. He brought me a thermos of coffee and went to open the window just like always, and when he did the alarm in the dosimeter on the wall went off."

"How high?"

"Eight milliroentgen per hour."

"In Minsk?" Valery asked, aghast.

She nodded rather soberly. 

"What time was it?"

She frowned in thought. "Couldn't have been any later than nine in the morning, I don't think."

"Shit." Valery said shaking his head and reaching for his cigarettes on the bedside table. 

"Were you here yet?"

Valery scoffed and lit another cigarette before replying. "God no. I was in the shower in my apartment in Moscow. The Central Committee didn't convene until 2pm that afternoon."

If Ulana had rolled her eyes any harder she might've strained something. "I was certain it was coming from outside." She went on. "The alarm would have gone off earlier otherwise. I'd been there all night. So, I grabbed a sterile sample wipe and wiped down the outside of our window and tossed it in the spectrometer."

"Iodine-131?" He asked, and she nodded. "So you knew it wasn't an attack."

"Or a waste dump." Ulana added. "So, I pulled the iodine pills from the stock, and started calling nuclear plants. Ignalina was closest and they were as confused as we were. Actually, they were panicked more like. They were at four milliroentgen per hour themselves. Then I called Chernobyl just to see if they knew anything. They were the next closest but they were too far for… well…"

"And no one answered?"

"And no one answered." she confirmed.

Valery took a drag off his cigarette. "They'd already cut the phone lines that morning."

Ulana absorbed that, and tacitly swallowed her rage with it. 

"How did you find out about the sand and boron?" Valery asked.

That distracted her easily enough and she shot him a clever smile. "I called the receptionist at Kurchatov. She's an old schoolmate of mine. When we want to talk about the different reactors, we have a code… Chernobyl is 'our friend in the country.'"

Valery laughed, billowing smoke like a dragon.

Ulana, charmed by his amusement at her cleverness, stole the cigarette from his lips and took a drag. He watched her with keen interest and she couldn't resist cutting him her best attempt at a coquettish smile. 

_Were he only a younger man,_ he found himself thinking.

"I asked her if it was hot there right now." she went on, words puffing smoke. "And she said yes, but that he had nephews coming."

"Nephews?" Valery repeated, confused. "The Kremlin?"

"No." she said, eyes glinting cleverly. "Simka who is fourteen, and Boris who is five." 

Valery blinked at her, wheels turning. "Sand and boron."

"Sand and boron." She said, pulling another lungful of smoke before passing the cigarette back to him.

He took a drag of his own, grinning at her in the dark. “See this is why I have to send you to Moscow. Much as I don't want to."

"What do you want, Valery Legasov?" She asked propping her chin on his chest and looking at him with sparkling sea-green eyes. "Were there nothing to contest it. What would you want?"

"You mean here?"

"No… I mean… for everything. For your life. What do you want?"

He lay back, staring up at the ceiling. "I want… a house in the country. Like the one I grew up in. I want my cat. I want my work. It's… what I've always wanted." he said, though the statement hung in the air like the languid curls of cigarette smoke puffing from his lips.

"But…" Ulana prompted.

"But I want more now. I want something that I can't have."

"What can't you have?"

"You. And Boris." he said, reaching over to rid himself of the nearly spent cigarette. "I feel… selfish enough as it is, but you combine that with… they'd never let us. We'd never be allowed… and besides…" he trailed off again.

"Besides?" She parrotted in an encouraging tone.

He looked down at her. "That can't possibly be what you want. Or what Boris wants. But I find myself wanting it all the same. It's madness."

"Aren't we all just a little mad to even be here?"

"I suppose." Valery said, staring up at the ceiling again. 

"Perhaps… when this is all over."

"Over?" Valery frowned at her. "It'll never be over. You know that."

"But it will be over for us one day." Ulana argued gently, her cheek pillowed on his chest. "And maybe then… maybe if things have changed or stayed the same… Who can say?"

"Who can say…" he parrotted.

She chased a few of his freckles with kisses. "Boris is right. You should ask for what you want. Look where it's gotten you. Besides… it can't hurt to have a little fantasy."

"Ulana… this can't possibly be-"

"You asked. You told me what you wanted and you asked me to give it to you." she said drawing his eyes to hers. "You asked. And I didn't say no. We haven't known each other long, the three of us. But I think in my estimation that you can trust Boris and I to tell you "no" if we need to. Or want to."

A little smile flowered on Valery's lips then. A little miserable. A little bewildered. But a smile all the same. And Ulana kissed him for it.

"I enjoyed this." she said. "And if you ask me for it again, I will say yes. Or give you a reason for saying no. Deal?"

"Deal." he said, kissing her again. "Can…" He stopped himself like pulling the reins on a horse.

Ulana cut him a flat look that bordered on fond impatience. "Valera." she prompted.

"I want to tell Boris." Valery said. "Do you mind?"

"Only if you tell him what a spectacular fuck I am so I can see if he gets jealous."

Valery laughed and kissed her again, pulling her close so that they rolled together on the pillows. "That I will do."

***

When Ulana finishes her tale, Svetlana sits in stunned, nearly religious silence.

"So none of it is true?" She asks with a glazed look of amazement, her hand spreading on the newspaper where it lay on the bench beside her.

Ulana lifts a shoulder. "Only if you require correct credit. Everything that they say happened in this article happened. But… it wasn't necessarily done by the people they say."

Svetlana shakes her head. "It's… awful. Comrade Legasov… he should be the most highly decorated citizen of the Soviet Union right now if what you're telling me is the truth. Someone should say something! Couldn't you-"

"No, I can't." Ulana cuts her off smartly. "Because if I breathe a word about him to anyone… if I try to speak to him, or if Comrade Shcherbina does… They'll kill him outright. And probably come for us too."

Svetlana is still shaking her head, bewildered at the injustice.

"And you mustn't tell anyone either, Sveta." she goes on, taking her hand. Svetlana visibly marks the change of address, leaning into her mentor's space as she continues to speak. "Not a soul. Not your family. Not your colleagues. And you must not _ever_ mention Comrade Legasov or Comrade Shcherbina in the lab. I've no doubt the KGB has bugged every workspace I frequent. And if they know I've talked about him to _anyone,_ they will kill him without hesitation… and probably me as well. And they'll take you for questioning for certain, if not ruin you outright just to tie up loose ends. Do you understand, Sveta?"

"Ulana…"

She squeezes her knuckles until the skin turns white under her fingers. "Do you understand me, Sveta."

"Yes." she says quickly, covering Ulana's hand with her own. "Yes, I understand. I won't say anything. I swear it."

"Okay."

"But…"

Ulana's eyes flick up to her face, a warning churning like a thunderstorm in her gaze.

"Will you still tell me about them?" Svetlana asks, a heartbreakingly plaintive look in her glassy brown eyes. "About Comrade Legasov? And Comrade Shcherbina? When the papers get it wrong, will you tell me what really happened?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Svetlana's tongue sneaks out to edge along her lip before she meets her mentor's sharp gaze. "I feel like someone should." she says. "If no one can, then someone should. Even if it's just me."

Ulana's breath snags in her ribs as she studies her young assistant's face. Her American styled hair, and her pretty floral dress. She considers her sharp mind and her even sharper tongue when necessary. But only when necessary. And she thinks of all Svetlana might accomplish if she's left to pursue her dreams.

She sees herself a few decades back, truth be told. And she can't help but think how much she would have loved to hear a story about someone like Valery back then. How ambitious it would have made her. How happy. How proud to be a scientist in the Soviet Union.

"Yes. Yes, alright." she says. "Bring me the paper when they run a story about Chernobyl, and I'll tell you what they get wrong. So long as you swear to never tell anyone."

Svetlana smiles then. "Not a soul," she promises.

***


	4. You Can't Possibly Be That Naive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the third day of the conference, after hours and hours of lectures both given and received, Shcherbina is grateful to head back to the hotel early. But before he makes it to the car, he’s waylaid by a fellow attendee and lecturer at the conference who puts out his hand in greeting.
> 
> Or doesn’t so much put it out as catches Boris’s with his, grasping it so tightly that Boris’s leather glove creaks in his grip.
> 
> “Mr. Boris Shcherbina?” the man clumsily pronounces the name with his awkward accent. Swedish, by the sound of it. “I’m so glad to have run into you.”
> 
> Boris manages a tight smile but doesn’t say anything. He’s sharply aware of the eyes of his handlers all over both of them. And more to the point, Boris is overwhelmingly aware of a piece of paper that’s just been tucked under his watch band.
> 
> “Sorry. Have we met?” Boris replies stiffly.
> 
> “I’m so sorry. Not officially,” The little man apologizes again, and the hunch in his shoulders and the diversion of his gaze reminds Boris so strongly of Valery he’s almost angry. “I am Dr. Elias Holbergsson. I am with the Swedish Nuclear Science Commission.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday everyone!
> 
> Thank you all so much for your patience last week with the lateness of the chapter. I should be on schedule from here on in, provided life doesn't have other ideas again. 
> 
> I send many thanks to my beta-readers @kaminaduck and Lucas, and my science advistor @cactusowl. 
> 
> And I thank you all! Your excitement and feedback has really helped boost my confidence in this story. 
> 
> Now on to this week's chapter!

**January 3, 1988**

Charkov had been right.

And it was getting worse with every day that passed. Worse than Boris had ever thought possible.

At first, he thought that seeing Ulana when she would come through Moscow to give talks at the Institute would make it better. Well, maybe not better. Easier. But in truth it only makes the gnawing pit in his stomach worse. It's as if being close to her only makes the empty space Valery once occupied that much more black and vacuous. And to compound matters, after each of Ulana's visits, the empty ache lingers. Not that he blames her, nor would he ever dream for even a second of denying himself the sight of her let alone her touch and her kiss. It's just that when she is close, his skin itches with the fact that Valery is somewhere in this damned city. He could probably walk to him from the steps of the Kremlin if he just knew where he was, and yet…

And yet he cannot. He _must_ not. Even thinking about him feels dangerous. Perhaps more so now than it had back in late summer. It's as if the recollection of him could threaten to be so strong that Valery's name might escape his lips like an unwitting cry to the Almighty. Just from the thought. Just from remembering him...

But… if they could just be together. Just… just get away from here… Someplace where they could all be together...

But that thought is even more dangerous. To give it more than the attention necessary to dismiss it was to court peril. It would be nigh impossible and far too risky. And to pine on the thought without real intention of acting on it was to invite cankerous rot. It would eat away at him to dream and not act. Boris was a man of action. Someone always capable of procuring and implementing means. Of acting on his desires. Of bringing forth tangible results...

But this was beyond his purview. Escape could be possible for him, certainly. He need only engineer one State trip out of the country and he could slip away. But to get to Valery? And get Ulana out of the country too? Because he wouldn't leave her behind... That took means and resources beyond even his capability, loath as he was to admit it. It would take years and no small amount of good luck to claw together the connections and the papers to get all three of them out of the country. And to be frank… he didn't have years. None of them did. And then there was the problem of trying to contact Valery in the first place.

So he tried not to mull on the what ifs and maybes. It did him no good and time was short. Better to enjoy Ulana's visits and keep memories in their place.

There's a knock at his office door which startles him out of his melancholy.

"Enter." he says roughly.

His secretary, Yarina, pokes her head in and gives him a deferential but warm smile. "I have a message for you, Comrade Deputy Chairman."

"Of course, Comrade Markova. Come in." He puts on his most affable smile for her. He always did his best to never bark at her the way he sometimes did at his other subordinates. Much of his reputation of being a man capable of securing anything he needed could be attributed to this woman, and he'd never had cause or desire to be gruff with her. She was stern in her own way, despite her younger years, and sometimes her softer face could get him farther than he might with his own harsher demeanor. And his reputation and admiration of her abilities gave her a level of security she might not have otherwise. She seemed to know this as well as he did. A mutually beneficial working relationship. And a warm one too. That was rare in the Kremlin.

"I just received word from the General Secretary's office." she says, and he sits up a little straighter. "They asked me to inform you that the General Secretary would like to see you in his office at 2pm today."

Boris's eyebrows migrate towards his hairline. "Did they say what about?"

"Only that there's another nuclear energy conference coming up in Vienna." She replies, her painted mouth pulling slightly. She knows enough of his business to understand what that means.

"I see." Boris says, eyes glazing a little.

He might be going back to Vienna? Alone, presumably?

Well, not alone of course… Charkov would see to it that he had appropriate company.

"I took care of clearing your calendar for the afternoon at the suggestion of the General Secretary's assistant." Yarina went on. "The appointment you had with Deputy Chairman Popov is going to be tomorrow after your daily briefing with the Council of Energy."

"Thank you, Comrade Markova. I'd be lost without you." Boris says, hoping his soft smile hides the worming anxiety working its way around and around his gut.

"And I'd still be working in a factory if you didn't need someone to take care of your appointments, Comrade Shcherbina." She gives him a friendly but wholly professional wink, and slips back out the door.

Boris sighs and sits back in his chair. 

Vienna again. 

Fuck, he'd better not tell Ulana. She'll be on him to commit political suicide. Or worse, she'd beg him not to go. Actually, it would most likely be the latter. She'd become unaccountably gunshy in the last few months, he'd noticed. She'd changed her research focus and switched departments at the institute in Byelorus as soon as she'd gotten back to Minsk. Each time they spoke she seemed to grow more and more cloistered, folding in on herself and disappearing into her equations and schematics. It was worrying, but he hadn't quite known how to address it. Not without pulling on the thousands of strings undoubtedly attached to her decisions.

Boris paced his office like a caged animal until 2pm rolled around and he could head upstairs. He's quickly ushered into Mikhail Gorbachev's office to find him sitting at his desk across from two chairs. One is empty. Presumably Boris's. And in the other?

None other than Deputy Chairman Charkov of the KGB.

Boris has to swallow his pulse when he sees him.

"Good afternoon, Comrade Deputy Chairman." Charkov greets, giving him an almost grandfatherly smile.

"Good afternoon, Comrades General Secretary. Deputy Chairman." Boris replies before taking the available chair, unbuttoning his jacket with a practiced twist of his fingers. "My secretary tells me that there's to be another nuclear energy conference in Vienna?"

"There is." Gorbachev says. "In two weeks. And we'd like to send you." 

"I would never presume to second guess your decisions, Comrade General Secretary." Boris responds in his most deferential and inoffensive tone. "But if I can ask, why me?"

"Your role in the cleanup of Chernobyl is exactly the sort of face we want to represent on the global stage." Gorbachev replies. "And in light of continuing issues across the continent, it would be just the sort of presentation they're looking for."

He tries to shrug it off. "I only played a minor role. Mostly procurement."

"You shouldn't downplay your involvement, Comrade Shcherbina." Charkov cuts in, his tone most blithe and bland. "You had more to do with it than anyone. Save perhaps Valery Legasov."

By some heroic force of will, Boris doesn't flinch at the name. Even though he wants to slap it from Charkov's sly, slithering mouth. He simply keeps his eyes on Gorbachev, who to his credit looks annoyed at the antagonization.

"It's a pity we can't send him." Charkov concludes with the most innocuous smile Boris has ever seen.

"Yes, a pity." Boris answers dryly and by some miracle, doesn't break a tooth on the words.

Gorbachev for his part is clearly less than enthused by Charkov's merry poking at old wounds. "As I said, we want to send you because your experience in Chernobyl is actually exactly what the conference is looking for. They have scientists and engineers in spades to talk about design and function, but they're looking for someone to speak to practical implementation of clean up measures. Both unfortunately and fortunately, we are the only ones with that sort of experience on a large scale. And more to the point, you have that experience. Procurement. Application of manpower. This is the input they have requested of us. Nothing more."

He blinks at that. Perhaps it is his purview after all. But it would feel so strange to go without Valery to ensure… but what does it matter?

"Boris, you of all people understand the sort of supply chains and the kind of manpower necessary for large scale cleanup in a radioactive area." Gorbachev continues. "You might be perhaps the only person in possession of practical knowledge and experience in this matter on that scale. And… it would be another chance to improve our standing in the global community."

"To build upon what Legasov started." Charkov cut in, and this time he earned himself a truly censuring look from Gorbachev. "Of course, the KGB will want to lend a hand in the construction of your presentation."

Boris's eyes never left the General Secretary's face. He was done giving Charkov the satisfaction of ribbing him. " Of course. As always, I am at the service of the State, and the Party, and you, Comrade General Secretary. If I have the knowledge and the clout necessary to improve our standing in the world, then I will gladly go to Vienna to represent our nation."

Gorbachev smiles then. "Excellent. I'm told your travel arrangements are underway, and we'll have that information to your secretary. Plan to leave Moscow January 16th and return on the 21st."

"Yes, Comrade General Secretary." Boris replied.

"I'll also be in touch with her about a meeting to go over the information we'd like you to present in Vienna." Charkov cuts in. "Please take some time this week and construct a timeline for us of events during your involvement at Chernobyl as well as your requisition records."

"I believe Comrade General Pikalov's unit was largely responsible for the actual procurement of materials in the early stages of our efforts. I'll need access to those records." Boris says, eyes still on Gorbachev.

"Whatever you need, you have it." Gorbachev waved at him reassuringly from across his massive desk. 

Boris gives a nearly bowing nod. "Thank you, Comrade General Secretary."

"Thank you, Comrade Shcherbina." Gorbachev replies most sincerely. "I know you will represent our country and our Party with dignity."

"Of course. It will be my honor. Good day, Comrades."

"Good afternoon, Comrade Shcherbina." Charkov practically coos as he heads towards the door. "Do say hello to Comrade Khomyuk for me the next time she's in town."

Boris is shocked that his glare doesn't set fire to the door as he exits.

***

**January 20, 1988**

It's ridiculously cold in Vienna and this shocks Boris upon his arrival. Apparently, he thought the Soviet Union kept all the truly cold weather to themselves after a certain point. Reveling in the bone-deep ache of the freezing cold, and hoarding it so that it lasted well into unseasonableness. But it's Vienna in January, and the wind off the Alps is certainly aware of the season. It's miserably and almost painfully cold. But it doesn't snow. That's the worst of it. It's raining instead, and a biting wind chases up the street rendering his umbrella useless against the deluge.

It's made even more perverse by the fact that the weather had been so lovely when he'd been here with Valery. Was that really less than a year ago? It had been beautiful in early spring. Everything had been fully in bloom, and sticky, bright green leaves were beginning to peek out of their hiding places, where back home it still snowed occasionally. It had been an escape. A little corner of paradise, however briefly stolen.

But it was utterly miserable now, to be here alone in January. The wind in the streets of Vienna bit at Boris's face and ears. Every bit of exposed skin flushed with cold as he and his entourage marched up the street towards the headquarters of the assistantational Atomic Energy Agency. Their umbrellas were useless. Nothing to do but hunker down and trudge as fast as they could.

And what an entourage it is that travels with him. Charkov's men, all of them. Six in total. Some posing as security. Some as advisors. And one apple-cheeked girl filling the role of his secretary, with a disarmingly lovely face and a fast eye for scanning documents that entered and left Shcherbina's hands.

It's frankly exhausting to be around. 

On the third day of the conference, after hours and hours of lectures both given and received, Shcherbina is grateful to head back to the hotel early. Grateful for the opportunity to be out of the cold and out of the spotlight. And most of all, he's grateful to be away from his pack of handlers, and their keen eyes watching his every move. But before he makes it to the car, he's waylaid by a fellow attendee and lecturer at the conference who puts out his hand in greeting.

Or doesn't so much put it out as catches Boris's with his, grasping it so tightly that Boris's leather glove creaks in his grip.

"Mr. Boris Shcherbina?" the man clumsily pronounces the name with his awkward accent. Swedish, by the sound of it. "I'm terribly sorry to be a bother, but I'm so glad to have run into you."

Boris manages a tight smile but doesn't say anything. He's sharply aware of the eyes of his handlers all over both of them, and he wonders if this man detaining him has any understanding whatsoever of how keenly he's being watched. And more to the point, Boris is overwhelmingly aware of a piece of paper that's just been tucked under his watch band.

"Sorry. Have we met?" Boris replies stiffly.

"I'm so sorry. Not officially," The little man apologises again, and the hunch in his shoulders and the diversion of his gaze reminds Boris so strongly of Valery he's almost angry. "I am Dr. Elias Holbergsson. I am with the Swedish Nuclear Science Commission."

"It's a pleasure." Boris says as officiously as he can manage. He's suddenly sweating in his greatcoat from the irritation, the discomfort, and _what did this man just give him?_

"I don't want to delay you. I just wanted to… give you my admiration for the scope of your efforts at Chernobyl. And the noble sacrifices the Soviet people are making."

Boris fought a frown and mostly won. It was strange to hear someone from the other side of the Iron Curtain give any sort of praise to the Soviet Union without it being, at best, a backhanded compliment. And he's plenty dizzy with confusion already. "Thank you, Doctor." he manages.

"You're most welcome. I won't keep you further. Safe travels to you, Mr. Shcherbina."

And just like that Dr. Holbergsson totters off to another conference room. Boris frowns as he watches him go and his "secretary" catches it like a frog with an insect.

"Something strange, Comrade?" she asks in a placid but plainly accusatory tone that makes his skin crawl.

Boris shakes his head. "Just not used to these sorts of things, I guess." he says, adding a good natured chuckle. "I'm used to my speeches leading to more arguments and accusations, not compliments."

She doesn't respond and follows him out of the building to their waiting car.

And all the while the paper the man slipped under his watch band itches where it's pressed to his skin.

***

Boris doesn't retrieve the concealed note until he's safely in his room, which thankfully he has to himself. However, the agent acting as his secretary has the room directly across the hall, and she strikes him as a light sleeper. But as long as he doesn't try to leave or say anything incriminating, he should be safe.

The neatly folded piece of paper unfurls to reveal a message written in perfect cyrillic. 

_I know you are being escorted by KGB handlers and they have rooms across and below you. There is a fire escape from your window. Take it up to the roof, then take the fire escape on the opposite side of the building down to the street. Two rights and a left. The bar with the purple canopy. I will be there until 2am. _

_Where is Valery Legasov? _

Boris's heart freezes to his ribs when he sees the name. He reads the note. And then reads it again. And again. He memorizes the instructions and then flushes it quickly down the toilet. 

_Fuck._

What did the Swedes want with Valery Legasov? Boris hadn't so much as breathed or even thought his name during his presentation. Exactly per the Kremlin's instructions.

And yet…

There had been his name. Plain as day and falling like a hammer between his eyes. God, Boris didn't even talk about him with Ulana much anymore. It was too raw. He was too close. Saying his name aloud was like worrying at a sore tooth. It just hurt now and for no good reason.

To read it had been a fresh kind of agony, but there it had been. _Where is Valery Legasov?_ Right there in black and white. Boris almost didn't want to go meet this Swede on principle. Valery was a guarded secret in his mind. Something kept concealed and safe only by Boris and Ulana's unspoken pact to keep his name off their lips. He didn't know if he could bear to speak his name again, or hear it butchered on some foreigner's tongue.

And yet…

He checks the clock. It was 7pm. Most definitely too early. It's still light outside.

So Boris does his best to approximate a normal evening. He packs his suitcase for departure in the morning. He orders room service and forces himself to eat so as not to appear out of sorts and thus draw probing questions from his handlers about his health. He opens the window and finishes his tea, under pretenses of enjoying how fucking freezing it is outside. And then he dresses for bed.

Except he doesn't. Not really. He changes clothes into the best incognito look he can manage, given all he had brought was attire fit for the conference. And then he lies down under the covers and waits.

He waits and waits and he tries not to think. He tries not to think about Valery and what this Swedish scientist wants to know about him. He tries not to think about what might happen if he gets caught going to this meeting. And most of all, he tries not to think about what might happen to Valery or Ulana if he gets caught.

He just lies there and waits.

It's some of the longest hours of his life.

And he has known some long hours in his time.

He had intended to go at midnight. Somehow that seemed like the appropriate time to slip his keepers and engage in clandestine activities that bordered on treason. But in the end, his impatience wins out. He leaves just after 10pm. Up the fire escape, down the fire escape on the other end of the roof, and out onto the street. He completes the prescribed turns and there at the end of the street is the promised bar with the purple canopy over the entrance.

He ducks inside and immediately spies the scientist from the conference. Elias, he'd said his name was. He's sitting with his back to the wall in a far booth. Easy enough to spot. He wasn't hiding.

Boris joins him and for a moment they just stare at each other. Boris knows he's being assessed in turn, but he doesn't care. He needs to take the measure of this man. Gone is Elias's bumbling, professorly way. His eyes are cool. His expression neutral. Now he sort of reminds Boris of the KGB agent currently posing as his assistant actually. It's terribly unsettling, even for him. But after a moment, Elias does smile. Not the same affable self-effacing smile from the conference, but sincere all the same. He goes to speak but Boris beats him to it.

"Are you actually a scientist?" Boris asks in faltering German. He doesn't speak the first word of Swedish, so he has to make do.

"In addition to a few other things." Elias responds in perfect Russian with a perfect smirk to match. "I am Doctor Elias Holbergsson, and I am a chemist with the Central Intelligence Bureau of Sweden. Would you like a drink?" he gestures to the green glass bottle beside him.

Boris blinks slowly. It's not often he's taken off guard, but he's at least savvy enough to realize that's part of the point. "What are you drinking?"

"Apricot schnapps." 

Boris shrugs and Elias takes that as a "yes," pouring them both a drink. Boris takes his and draws about half of it into his mouth and his new friend does the same. The taste is quite different from the flat, chemical taste of the vodka he's used to. There's a lingering and cloying sweetness that overlays the burn of the alcohol, and as much as he loves sweet things, Boris is sure this could turn his stomach quickly if he isn't careful.

"What do you want with Valery Legasov?" Boris asks and then he abruptly cuts himself off. "Actually, let me back up. What do you _know_ about Valery Legasov?"

Elias lifts one slender shoulder. "I suppose security concerns would be your first-"

"Fuck the security concerns." Boris spits, and to his credit, Elias actually balks at the venom in his voice. "I want to know what you know about a man the Soviet State has spent an incredible amount of time and effort to bury before his is actually dead."

"The Soviet State." Elias mouths around on the words. "So I'm to take that to mean… not you? You aren't trying to hide Legasov's whereabouts? Because frankly we were expecting to see him here at the conference, not you. Or at the very least, not just you."

That frankly stings a little, but Boris understands. Besides, if he gets angry now he won't get any answers. "If you actually thought I was the one hiding him you wouldn't have invited me here."

Elias snorts. "No, I suppose not. Close as you two seemed to be."

"Seemed to who?"

"To the world. Did you not see the picture published of the two of you after Legasov's presentation? You looked practically chummy. Perhaps more than simply colleagues. You looked like friends. You looked like-"

"You still haven't told me what you want with Valery Legasov." Boris growls warningly.

Elias gives a slight incline of his head and visibly relents. "Very well. After last year's conference, my department at the Bureau began inquiries into how the USSR was handling the fallout from Chernobyl." Elias said. "We are having problems of our own, you see, and we were curious how your cleanup was being handled. Legasov presented some interesting ideas last year, and we began following up on his work. But then in July of last year, it seemed that the Soviet narrative shifted quite drastically. Legasov's name disappeared from any inquiry. Our intelligence and current recounts no longer matched. In short… we'd lost our lead."

"So?"

"So? We are trying to clean up radiation from _your_ plant on our soil, Mr. Shcherbina." Elias bit back. "It's poisoning plant life. It's killing our reindeer herds. Rendering our native food supply unusable. We wanted to know how to fix it. How you all were fixing it, specifically. And suddenly, the lynchpin of your whole operation vanishes overnight last summer. What are we to make of that?"

Boris stares at the man sullenly. A thousand smart and spiteful replies school like sharks behind his scowl, but he finds he lacks the viciousness to wield them. This man is concerned for his country. Could any less be said of Boris? He drops his sullen gaze to the tabletop and elects to say nothing.

"Is he alive?" Elias finally asks, his voice gentler now given Boris's reaction.

"As far as I know."

"You haven't spoken to him?"

Boris doesn't look up. He just spins his half-full glass of schnapps on the table top for want of something to do. "I'm not permitted to. No one who worked at Chernobyl is allowed to speak to him. Or even speak about him. So, I've neither seen nor spoken to the man in six months."

A pinch of true concern folds itself across Elias's brow. "What happened?"

Boris lifts one massive shoulder. "He tried to tell the truth. Publically. At the show trial held for the plant management."

"The truth about what?"

Boris visibly debates with himself, but ultimately decides that telling the truth is no greater treason than sitting in the chair he's currently occupying. "Our reactors have… a flaw." he tells him, finally forcing himself to meet Elias's curious gaze. "Under extreme and frankly ludicrous conditions, which would be brought on by human indiscretion, the graphite tips on our control rods can send an already unstable reactor into an immediate, explosive meltdown." He smiles incongruously, pleased that he can concisely explain something so complicated. 

He wishes he could see Valery's smile, equally pleased that he'd paid attention in class.

Instead he's met with Elias's disconcerted frown. "Your reactors… plural?"

"Yes." he replies. "All the RBMK reactors in the Soviet Union are built this way."

Elias blinks. "I see. And how many is that?"

"Sixteen. With more being built as we speak."

His thin eyebrows migrate up to his hairline. "And so Legasov tried to make people aware of this?"

"Oh, people were already aware. Or more to the point, the KGB was aware."

"Ah. I see." Elias sits back and twists his hands together on the table. "Your reactor designs, flaws and all are considered to be State secrets?"

"Something like that."

"But Legasov is still alive?"

"As far as I know." Boris answers as neutrally as he can manage on such a subject. "The KGB didn't kill him. They can't after his showing in Vienna last year. But…"

"But…?"

Boris sighs. He supposes talking about it is inevitable so no point in pussyfooting around it. "We both received a sizeable dose of radiation during our work in Chernobyl. He's not likely to live long anyway. It's more advantageous to just strike his name from the record and alienate him from any sort of prestige rather than kill him and risk the bad global publicity."

"Back up a moment. They didn't… You weren't… protected from this somehow? The radiation, I mean." He asks, utterly aghast. This is the first true emotion Boris has seen from the man. Shock. Utter shock. He can barely even finish the sentence. And he realizes how appalling it must sound to an outsider. To someone who didn't live through it. For him it's a matter of course now. Just part of his Soviet landscape. It wasn't a difficult demon to wrestle with, but then again he'd had Valery to wrestle it with him. And Ulana too.

"No. We didn't know what we were being sent into." Boris has pity on him and plows ahead. "Well. I didn't anyway. I think Professor Legasov knew from the beginning, but… he wouldn't be able to prove his suspicions to the satisfaction of the Kremlin without visiting the reactor. And once we were there and he was proven correct, he warned me that we would likely have around five years before he effects of the radiation would catch up to us." Almost as if on cue, Boris begins coughing. 

"That's…"

"Unpleasant?" He gags a little around the word.

"Unconscionable!" Elias spits. "That… that's…"

"We weren't the only ones."

"No, I know! I know! I've read the reports… Thousands…"

"Hundreds of thousands." Boris corrects rather blandly, feeling a little like Valery at that moment. Pointlessly and unprofitably pedantic.

Elias just shakes his head, clearly trying to rein his mind back to the task at hand. "And… you can't talk to Professor Legasov? You can't…"

"No." Boris replies.

"You haven't even tried?"

"Absolutely not, and under no circumstances can I. The KGB would kill him." Boris replies curtly. "I can't risk that. Not even to know…" he can't bring himself to finish the statement. He finishes his liquor instead.

Elias cocks his head, blinking slow as he considers something. Boris can practically see the gears turning in the man's head as he pours them both another round of the sugary toxin. "Would you like to know?" he asks finally. "If he's alright, I mean?"

Boris doesn't answer. Not a muscle in his face twitches. What is this Swede offering exactly? He has to know before he answers. Swedish intelligence officers are certainly not the KGB, but he has to be careful regardless.

Elias pulls in a slow breath and refolds his hands on the table in an effort to look composed, though he's clearly still reeling from the information Boris has just given him about the conditions on the ground in Chernobyl. "I'm going to be more forthright with you than I might otherwise be. You seem like a man who appreciates that."

Boris inclines his head but elects to stay silent.

"The Swedish government is looking for scientists… engineers… anyone with experience dealing with large scale radioactive cleanup. The situation is reaching untenable levels in the Swedish countryside. Reindeer are dying. Whole ecosystems are being gutted. And our way of life is suffering. We were hoping to garner some help… input… perhaps even direct assistance from Valery Legasov, but it seems that won't be forthcoming seeing as he isn't in favor of the Communist Party. To put it mildly."

"Very mildly." Boris agrees dryly.

"But…" Elias steeples his narrow fingers. "I think the unfortunate fate that has befallen him might be a boon to my country."

Boris's eyes narrow a fraction. "What are you suggesting, Dr. Holbergsson?"

"As someone who knows the man well, what do you think it would take to get Valery Legasov to defect?"

Boris blinks at the baldness of it for a moment. "I really don't know." He says, drawing a sip from his glass to cover his shock.

"Do you think it's possible?" Elias presses. "Or that he might be willing to collaborate with us some other way? Covertly?"

He pouts his lips in thought. "I think it's more likely now than it was six months ago."

"Do you think you can get us in contact with him? At least tell us where to find him?"

Boris's mind drifts for a moment. He drifts and takes another sip his schnapps and thinks of…

Escape.

Rescue.

_Salvation._

His mind buzzes with more questions. 

Could he? Yes. Will he? Most assuredly. But…

What if… what if it wasn't just Valery?

Is it possible? Would either of them even be willing?

No way to know but to ask.

And perhaps… to ask for more?

Boris finishes his drink and taps his empty glass idly on the table. "What if I told you I could do better than just Valery Legasov?" 

"What do you mean?"

"You said yourself. You're looking for scientists. Engineers. All plural. What if I could get you more than just one experienced nuclear scientist. What if I could get you two? One a chemist. The other a physicist specializing in nuclear engineering."

Elias leans forward, refilling both their glasses. "Go on."

"Legasov was assisted in Chernobyl by one Ulana Khomyuk, chief physicist at Byelorusian Institute for Nuclear Energy. What if I could get you her as well?"

"I know that name." Elias says consideringly. "This is starting to sound dangerously like it might have terms, Mr. Shcherbina."

"Only one. And that is that if they defect, I would come with them. The three of us. We were the the architects of the cleanup in Chernobyl. And we could come to your country to help with yours." he answered, a little of his politician's swagger flowering in his tone and in the set of his shoulders. "A proper Swedish family." He laughs at the joke that Elias clearly doesn't follow.

He's thinking instead of the counteroffer he's just been made. "Three of you." Elias says, his brows raised. "Definitely more than I bargained for. Possibly more than my government would be willing to risk. Is she non-negotiable?"

"Yes. I would have to involve Khomyuk anyway. She's the only one who could possibly contact Legasov without arousing suspicion since they work in the same field. I'm followed. My apartment is bugged. There would be no way to get near Legasov without endangering him. And possibly Khomyuk as well. She would have to be involved because her professional connections would arouse less suspicion. So… no deal without her. It wouldn't be fair."

"And why should we also allow you along?"

"Do I need to give my presentation again?" Boris sniped over the rim of his glass as he lifted it to his lips. "Before I was the head of the Bureau for Fuel and Energy, I managed fuel and supply routes in both the Winter War and World War II. I did not get to where I am in the Party by bootlicking and knowing the right people. I got to where I am and Chernobyl was contained because of one thing. I know how to get what I want. I know how to organize people on a massive scale. And I can help you with those skills as well."

"No, you misunderstand." Elias rebuffs him with a wave of one long-fingered hand. "I know your value to us. What I need is a reason. _Your_ reason. You're not coming out of the goodness of your heart… out of sorrow for the plight of the Swedish people. Legasov might want to escape Soviet erasure, and Khomyuk, the danger of retaliation, but you still have your good standing, Mr. Shcherbina. You would still have a place in your Party. Why would you leave?"

Boris pinches his lips together. So it would be the truth then. All of it. Nothing else would suffice because nothing else would make sense. "I would be freeing them so that I could see them again. So that we could all be safe. We deserve that."

"I see." Elias says, thinking for a moment before giving a curt nod that was mostly to himself. "Well. Then the offer stands. For all three of you. We certainly come out of it better than I'd expected."

"And what is your offer. Plainly spoken?"

"Safe passage out of the Soviet Union to Sweden. In exchange for your help with our own cleanup efforts, you will be given housing, medical care, and stipends. And protection of course, should the Soviet Union decide to retaliate."

Boris looks up at him then and for once doesn't bother to hide how helpless he feels. In fact, it takes him back to that first night in Chernobyl. Standing in the camp with radiation soaking into his skin. He'd never felt more ignorant and helpless before that moment.

_"Tell me how to put it out."_ It had been all he could do to keep the plaintiveness from his tone. 

He licks his thin lips and fixes his eyes on Elias. "What should I do?" he asks, ashamed only at the tremble in his voice. It's the same question, just different words. 

"Contact Khomyuk." Elias says, his tone almost gentle. "See if she's willing to initiate covert contact Legasov. Once a line of communication is established with him, we will get particulars of your relocation underway."

"How am I to contact you?"

"Let us worry about that. Better you don't know." Elias lifted his glass and Boris did the same. No toast was made. The fewer words spoken the better. But they did clink glasses and drink. 

The sweetness of the drink still shocked Boris, but he had to admit it was growing on him. And his head reeled a little for reasons other than the alcohol. Was it that simple? A barter. A toast. And that was all? No wonder no one was ever allowed to travel outside of the country alone. But somehow he knew it wouldn't be that simple. Nothing ever was.

And yet… for a brief moment, he felt something. Something he hadn't felt in weeks. Months even. The better part of a year. Not since the trial… not since…

Not since he'd last seen his Valera.

_Their_ Valera.

He felt hope. A strange, blackened sort of hope. Weak and atrophied. An aberrant, malformed sort of pleasure at being given the slimmest chance to try. No guarantees. No promises of anything except even greater pain for everyone involved if he failed. But hope it was. And hope it would be.

That at least… was simple.

***

**May 4, 1986**

"What do you mean they can't use motorized digging equipment?" Boris half-shouted the question before schooling his tone and gripping the bridge of his nose between two fingers.

"They'll disturb the earth above them." Valery explained, gesturing over the map with his cigarette. "And the foundations above that, which Ula- Comrade Khomyuk says are already unstable from the explosion. If they disturb it further it could drop the whole thing right down on them and then there'd be no saving the water supply." 

"It's going to take forever!" Boris countered. "Weeks!"

"We have weeks. Six to be precise."

"Weeks under a melting reactor, Valery. You're telling me that's safe for them?"

"No, I'm telling you it's the only way." He said his rough voice wrung with desperation. "I don't want to do it, but I see no other way. Not with this time frame. Not with these parameters. It has to be people and it has to be done by hand."

Boris sighed, his back hitting the wall and then his head with a hollow thud. "God, why is nothing ever simple?" he roughly lamented, exasperation wringing his voice.

"Because we're dealing with a complex problem." Valery replied, words coming out in a puff of smoke.

"It can't be that complex. You can explain it well enough that I understand it."

"I'm leaving out a lot of detail."

Boris arched an eyebrow. "Is this because you think I'm too uneducated or too stupid to understand it."

"Shut up, Boris. You know it's not that." Valery bit back, taking one last drag off his nearly spent cigarette before crushing it into the ashtray. He always smoked these down to the filters. They were imported French cigarettes. God only knew where Boris had gotten them.

"Then what is it?" Boris jabbed back.

"I don't know." he said with a heavy shrug. "Just… you said it yourself. This is not a classroom, and you're not one of my sleepy eyed, slack jawed students."

"So… let's take a walk, and you can explain it to me like I am."

He had expected him to argue, but instead Valery cut him an amused look that Boris couldn't quite read, but gathered up his cigarettes and lighter and lead the way out of the Polissia Hotel and onto the empty streets of Pripyat.

It was a beautiful night. Clear and not as cool as it had been. Neither Boris nor Valery bothered with coats or even their suit jackets or ties as they walked, leaving them behind in their makeshift office in the banquet room of the hotel. They wandered farther than their usual route around the hotel tonight, eventually finding their way to a playground at the nearby school. A park which less than a week ago was full of children having recess against the backdrop of an invisible nuclear disaster. 

Valery spared a thought for them, but only briefly. Just long enough to wonder where they were and to hope that they'd evacuated in time… even though any amount of critical thinking on the subject would crush his hopes like the spent cigarette he was grinding under his heel. So that was all it was. A thought. A wish for good health and a wistful wondering of where they'd been swept off to. It was all he could stand to do. He'd done all he could. Begged, pleaded, and talked Boris's ear off, all to no avail. Ultimately, it had been the sanity of men outside the Soviet Union that had lead to the evacuation of Pripyat… and yet here they were.

"You were going to tell me about the tunnel for the heat exchanger." Boris said.

Valery snorted. "What is it with you and having me explain things?" he asked, squinting at him in the dark.

Boris shrugged, his eyes finding the tops of his shoes. "You're good at it."

"I should hope so. It's my job when I'm not being told to put a cork in an open nuclear reactor." On a whim he dropped into one of the swings, finding his legs far too long to effectively dangle, but he still rocked back and forth just to hear the chains creak in the quiet.

"And it's my job to argue with you about it like the ignorant fool that I am." Boris came up to grip the chains of the swing set. He pulled back, drawing a startled chuckle from Valery before letting him go. Valery's shoes dragged on the ground as he gripped the chains, twisting around with his head thrown back. 

And just like that, he was laughing.

Boris realized he'd never really heard the sound before, and it freezes him for a moment. Like the sight of an unexpectedly beautiful sunrise.

"What is it?" Valery asked, allowing himself to come to a stop when he saw Boris's peculiar expression. A gaping sort of blissful awe into which all the shadows of night tucked themselves.

Boris smiled, his face creasing. "Keep your feet up, Valera. Have you never been on a swing set before?

"I must admit it’s been a few years." He replied, shifting around in the seat.

"Only a few?” He caught the chains again, drawing Valery back. He looked up at him, upside down and glasses a little askew, and still smiling and laughing just a little. Boris couldn't resist kissing the laughter from his lips, sneaking his tongue out to steal a taste of such a sweet and rare sound before pushing him off to sail up into the air. 

"You could probably do better for entertainment than arguing with the likes arguing with me." Valery commented on the backswing.

"Arguing with you has become my life's great passion." Boris retorted, giving him another push. "Seems it's become our dear Comrade Khomyuk's as well."

Valery stopped himself again, turning in the swing to face Boris, a little self-conscious frown painting his brow. 

"I'm not shaming you, Valera. I just notice things is all." Boris said, catching the chains again to draw him close. "If you want her then you should have her, assuming she's willing of course."

But the reassurance didn't stop Valery from dropping his eyes into his lap. Boris hooked his finger under Valery's chin and lifted his face. In the sodium glow of the streetlights, he looked so uncertain and young, and Boris traced his cheekbone with one thumb until he leaned into the contact a little.

"Only five years you said." Boris recalled, still caressing his face.

"Give or take." Valery replied softly.

"Well… I certainly plan to give what I can, and take what I can. And as I keep telling you, I want you to do the same."

He nodded faintly, not moving from Boris's touch. "I… did. As a matter of fact."

Boris's brows shot up towards his hairline. "Wha- You did? Already? You fox!" He gave the chains of the swing a twist to send Valery twirling. The smile was back as was the laughter, both bashful and glorious. 

"Fuck, Valera." Boris laughed as he caught him again, hands on his waist this time. He sounded giddy. He sounded almost young himself. "Fucking hell… What was she like?" Valery tried to hide his face again, but Boris gripped his cheeks in both his huge hands and kissed the embarrassed and yet quite pleased smile from his face. "You have to at least tell me. Tell me everything!"

"You're a depraved and indecent old man." Valery said, an indignant blush seeping in behind his freckles. "She would kill me. I'm surprised you're so curious the way you two snipe at each other."

"Curious about what an alley cat like her is like in bed? Absolutely." Boris said.

Valery gave him a playful if still diverting shrug. "Go fuck her yourself if you're so curious."

"Bah…" Boris waved him off. "She wouldn't let me near the hem of her skirt."

"Maybe not." Valery said, voice turning a little thoughtful. "But she asked me about you."

"You told her about us?" he said stilling warily. "Bold of you, Valera."

"She ah… saw us, actually." he said rather regretfully. "That night before I sent her to Moscow? When we kissed in the courtyard."

Boris cast a cautious eye around them. Their escorts were far behind them, not bothering to keep such a close watch now. But Valery saw the paranoia… saw it spread and poison the moment.

Such a shame. They had actually been having fun, but perhaps that was part of the problem. No where to for miles to let their guard down.

Maybe one day… maybe there could be a vacation or-

"Have you heard from her?" Boris asked, helping Valery up from the swing.

"Yes. She made it to Moscow and has a room at the hotel near the hospital. She's starting her interviews tomorrow."

"Good." Boris gave a curt, dutiful nod.

But Valery shook his head as they walked. "I don't envy her."

"Neither do I. By all accounts, Dyatlov seems to be a pill at the best of times."

"Oh, no it's not that." Valery responded.

"What is it, then?"

He cut his pale eyes up to Boris's face, his gaze framed with an almost pitying frown. "She's going to have to _see_ them, Borja." he replied pointedly. "I would have gone myself but…"

"But I need you here." Boris finished for him. "It will be bad?"

"Worse than you can imagine." Valery answered, still shaking his head. "By this point they…" but he stopped himself, his teeth clicking as he slammed them together. "I don't want to talk about it."

"It's not what will happen to us is it?"

"No. You were right when you said we'd get off easy."

"What's going to happen to us, then? Aplastic… anemia you called it?"

Valery laughed but there was no mirth in it this time. The sparkle was gone and Boris's chest ached at the sound. "Must I explain it?"

"Explain something else to me then." he waved his hand. "Like I'm one of your slack-jawed students. It's why I let you drag me out here. I'll even play at answering your questions if you like."

Valery managed a weak smile, but he could barely look at Boris now. Just glances stolen at the edges of his vision, as if he was staring at the sun. Too long and it would burn right through him. So he looked upwards instead as they walked, to the perforated vault of the night sky. The light pollution blotted a great deal of the stars out, but the greater constellations were still visible.

"Did you know nuclear fission is what makes the stars shine?" He asked, glancing at Boris again as that familiar professorly tone infected his voice. And he smiled again. Smaller than before. Less, and somehow more. The twinkle in his eye was back, and even from behind his thick glasses, it was brighter than any star overhead. 

Boris felt his own small, wondering smile pull at the corner of his mouth. "Does it now?" he asked humoringly.

"Mmhmm. The uranium in our reactor cores actually comes from stars. Nuclear reactors are like… like little stars all our own. How…" He paused, licking his lips as if to savor the little game between them, his smile touching his eyes and still only just bending his mouth. "How do you think the uranium got here?"

***

**January 28, 1988 **

_What in God's name am I doing here?_ Ulana thinks as she unfolds from the back of the taxi and steps out onto the streets of central Moscow. The palace-like Bolshoi theatre stretches up in front of her, already aglow from within ahead of the concert tonight, but she doesn't spend long to take it in. It's freezing. Even for January in Moscow, so she passes her money to her driver, wraps her fur-lined wool coat tightly around herself, and scurries to escape the cold.

The question rears its head again as she steps into the opulent lobby of the Bolshoi. But it's not strictly a question of what she is doing here and more a question of why. Why had Boris called her here? And by telegram no less. They hardly ever sent letters, let alone something like a telegram. She usually just phoned him when she'd be in the city. But apparently, he'd arranged a weekend for them in the city. A concert. Dinner after. A hotel for her, which she knew she wouldn't stay in. It was practically a royal summons if such a thing had existed in the Soviet Union. 

But why? Why this way? And why all… this? The concert and the frippery... Neither of them were particularly ardent music lovers, and Ulana came to the city often enough that it wasn't a special occasion. The date wasn't particularly of note. So why all this trouble?

Particularly the trouble of dressing up to go to the damn symphony. They could have just met at his apartment like always. Gone to dinner. Come back for a drink and the pleasure of each other's company. Hide away in bed until the sun was warm… 

But no. Instead it was this. This strangeness...

Ulana climbs the steps of the grand staircase with care. She's wearing heels for the first time in nearly a decade and she feels as unsteady as a newborn foal. But the dress, a rather architectural black and white affair she'd borrowed from Svetlana, had seemed a little overbearing on her frame without the added height. So while she's sure she looks the part, the heels only added to how out of place and out of sorts she feels.

At least until…

"Comrade Khomyuk! How lovely you look!"

At the sound of her name, she spins in place on the landing to find Boris Shcherbina climbing the stairs behind her. He's dressed in his best. A dark wool jacket bedecked with a healthy row of medals along with the ubiquitous sign of a career member of the Communist Party; a red flag pin. And he's wearing something she's ever seen him wear before. Aside from the bow-tie.

He's wearing a politicians smile. It gleams brighter than all his medals. Sharper than the pins fastening them.

He is his usual hulking self. Even with her heels he stands a full head and most of his broad shoulders above her. His suit, while not flashy in the Western style, was different to the ones she usually saw him in after work. Cleaner. Sharper. More formal. Even still, she'd know that hulking silhouette anywhere and she's relieved to see it. But it's the smile she doesn't recognize. And the tone of voice. Bright. Almost chipper. And also polished to a mirror shine.

Eyes everywhere. Even here. Of course. He has a part to play and so she plays along.

"Hello, Comrade Shcherbina." She says, hoping the proper name doesn't sound too leaden on her tongue. She can't remember the last time she called him by his last name, especially to his face. "It's so good to see you. It's been too long." That's not a lie at least. It's always too long away from him.

"Agreed. I'm so glad you could come. My box is this way. Would you join me?" He makes a show of offering her his arm. A show for whom, Ulana can only guess beyond the omnipresent and nebulous _them_, but she's keenly aware that there are eyes everywhere, even here. Perhaps especially here. The State does keep a sharp eye on her artists. It's all a show after all. From the music, to the small talk before hand, to the architecture and upholstery... and Boris is dressed for the part. She only hopes she looks her part as well. But what part, she still has no idea.

Also, he has a box at the Bolshoi? Of course he does, high ranking Party official that he is. She's just never thought about it before now. She sometimes forgets exactly who Boris is outside of the stolen moments they have together. _What_ he is. Usually he's just… Boris. Her Boris.

_Their Borja._

So much new information reels in her head, so she does the only thing she can do. She takes his arm and gives him a smile she only hopes matches his and says, "Of course. I would love to." And together, they climb the grand staircase.

Boris's mask of dazzlingly affable professionalism stays perfectly in place for as long as it takes for them to order drinks and ensconce themselves in the plush box perched high on the mezzanine level of the concert hall. As soon as the door is closed, the false expression melts from him like a rime of frost in the spring sunshine. His arms are around Ulana's waist and his face pressed into her hair as soon as the latch clicks.

"I'm so sorry." He says, the words humid on her neck.

"For what, Borja?" She asks pressing back into the wall until she can look up at him. "What's going on?"

"Once the music starts." he tells her, kissing her cheek and then her knuckles, eyes sparking as he looks her over. "You look beautiful."

"You're quite fetching yourself." She tells him as she lets her fingers trip over the rows of shiny medals and ribbons on his lapel. Even in her heels, she still has to rise on tiptoes to kiss him, but he holds her close, nearly lifting her from the floor. "I miss you." The words are barely more than escaped breath against his lips.

"I miss you too, Ulya." He whispers into her hair. "Every day."

They breathe in that private space for a moment, relishing the stolen time and closeness. Boris smells like cologne and leather polish... something she's never noticed before, though beneath it he still smells like himself. She didn't even bother with perfume. She doesn't own any, but she wonders if she smells different or feels different in this get up. If she does, he doesn't seem to mark it, his hands finding their favorite places as if they were naked in bed together. 

But eventually they must appear in their box or anyone watching might become suspicious. And Boris has certainly put on enough of a show downstairs that she's certain someone is at least looking if not watching.

Once they're seated they trade bland conversation and sip at their cognac, an indulgence that Ulana hasn't enjoyed until now. He talks about work at the Kremlin without telling her anything, and she talks to him about work at the Institute without saying anything that he can make heads or tails of. But none of that matters. It gives the image of professional civility and appropriateness.

And honestly, it's just good to hear Boris's voice. To touch his hand and rest her knee against his. Eventually, the lights come down, the orchestra tunes, and the maestro takes the stage. And at last the concert begins.

"I'm sorry." Boris says again after the music swells to a suitable volume.

"For what, Borja?" she asks, wishing like hell she could turn and face him.

"For not being able to be forthright with you. For having to meet under this ruse."

"I know how the world works for us now, Borja. Just tell me what's going on."

Boris drew a breath. "I attended the atomic energy conference in Vienna last week."

"You did?" She scrunches her face in surprise. "Why?"

He gives her a good natured but somewhat withering look. "I was asked by the Kremlin to talk about the logistics of our recovery and clean-up efforts in Chernobyl. About the only thing on the subject regarding Chernobyl I'm qualified to speak about."

She inclines her head in agreement but says nothing.

Boris just rolls his eyes. "That's not the point. The point is, I met a scientist from Sweden after my talk. He slipped me a note and told me to meet him in secret."

She schools her expression hard. She keeps her eyes on the maestro and her face completely neutral. Or at least she hopes that's what happened. But she leans close and she lowers her voice to the barest whisper, even though she felt like screaming. "Tell me you didn't."

"I did."

She lets go of a pressurized breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "For heaven's sakes, Boris! Why?" she hisses.

"Because he told me in that note that he wanted to talk about Valery Legasov."

She cuts him a wide-eyed look. "And you went? How could you know it wasn't a trap?"

Boris blinks for a moment, eyes still focused on the orchestra. "I guess I didn't."

"Fucking hell… So you met with this Swede?"

"Yes, I-" Suddenly, the music grows soft and Boris has to lower his whisper even further. "I met him. He was looking for scientists… engineers… anyone with experience in large scale radiation cleanup. The Swedes are having problems."

"And they wanted Valery. Makes sense. They probably wondered why he wasn't there." Ulana said, keeping her eyes forward. "Did you tell him why he wasn't?"

"Yes."

She fights not to shake her head. "God, Boris."

"Yes, I told him. And… he was wondering what I thought the odds of defection were."

Her eyes widen then. She can't help it. Defection? Really? "And what did you tell him?"

"That I could do his country one better. Two better actually."

She feels the color draining from her face. "What?" 

"I told him I could get him Legasov. And you."

"Me?" she digs her nails into the armrest to keep from screeching in frustrated rage. "Boris, what the hell are you playing at?"

"I miss him, Ulya." he replies, a thin coating of desperation on the words. "And I know you do too."

"Of course I do, you idiot. I miss him more than anything, but we can't endanger him. We can't."

"He's in danger now." Boris argues. "One slip. One wrong word… Charkov is waiting like a snake to strike. I can't live like this. I can't..." He reaches over and takes her hand, holding it below the view from the banister but gripping her fingers tight. "I can't do _nothing,_ Ulya. Not… not anymore. Not when it's our Valera."

_Our Valera._

Fuck it all.

Ulana lets all the air out of her lungs on a long sigh. "Say I think this is a good idea. Which I don't."

"Noted."

"But let's say for the moment that I do. What's the plan exactly?"

"There is a plan. I got the distinct impression from my contact that the Swedes are ready to move at a moment's notice on this. But I don't know any particulars yet, because before we can begin preparations on our end there's a large obstacle to overcome."

The first movement of the suite being played comes to a close just as he finishes speaking, so Ulana has to wait to ask the obvious question.

"What obstacle is that?" She asks after the orchestra is several bars into a rather lively military-style march.

"I can't directly contact Valery, and neither can you."

"Can I ask something awful?"

"Worse than defection?"

"Are we even certain he's still alive?"

Boris absorbs the question, swallowing it with about as much ease as he would a pine cone. "I think so. I see Charkov on a regular basis. I think he would rub my nose it in if Valery had passed or if he had been arrested. He would be the first to know, after all."

"So… what do we do? Neither one of us can contact him or the KGB will kill him and then us."

"That's not strictly true." Boris corrects. "We can't contact him personally. And I can't use any of my associates to contact him. We're all directly under Charkov's nose."

Ulana closes her eyes against a wave of anxiety so strong it threatens to make her sick. "But I'm not."

_Fuck_

Boris risks a sympathetic glance to her. "You're in the same field. Or at least similar ones. And you might… I don't know. I was curious if you had any associates who might-"

"No." She says flatly.

"You didn't let me finish."

"I don't need to. Boris, you're asking me to risk the neck of one of my colleagues!"

Boris deflates slightly and doesn't say anything immediately. For awhile they don't have any choice but to just listen to the incongruously peppy and patriotic music as the gears in their heads fruitlessly spin. But after awhile, Ulana reaches over and takes Boris's hand again. Hers practically disappears in his, but her grip is strong and he seems grateful for it.

"I'm sorry, Boris."

"Will you at least consider it?"

She gives a slow shake of her head. "Boris… I don't know that I have it in me to ask someone else to risk the wrath of the KGB. Not after what they did to Valery. Not after… It's one thing for someone to risk their life to save a city or a country. But… to save one person? Three people?"

"To save us?"

"Their life for ours? For what's _left_ of our lives?" she chances a look up at him, her sea-foam eyes turbulent and fraught. "I don't think I can do it."

"You don't know they won't get caught." Boris suggests weakly. "We can't know that we won't succeed."

"That's what I said about Valery telling the truth in Vienna and at the trial, and look where we are. Look where _he_ is!"

"Will you please at least think about it?" Boris pleads. "See if perhaps there's some way to get word to him. That's all. Maybe you could find a way that you could do it. I just know that I can't. There's no way." He risks another look, his slate-colored eyes desperate and sad. "Please, Ulya…"

She nods. What else can she do or say? "I'll… I'll see."

He squeezes her hand. "That's all I ask. Just think… think on it. I'm… I'm not terribly decided on it either."

"Okay. I'll think on it." she says. "And you're a terrible liar for a Party man."

There's quiet between them again as the strains of a Tchaikovsky symphony begin to fill the air. Boris's hand stays under hers, his fingers threading between hers as his thumb pets along the line of her knuckle.

"I miss him, Ulya." he says finally, sometime into the second movement. "When that Swede asked if I even knew if he was alive I nearly started crying. There in a bar in a foreign country in front of a total stranger. I wanted to beat him bloody for even mentioning Valery's name, but mostly I just wanted to cry. This is not who I am, Ulya. This is not who you are. And I can only imagine that whatever's become of our Valera, it's not who he is either."

Ulana shakes her head. He's right. It's rare that she'd ever admit that about the stubborn bull of a man. But he's right about this. She's never been so gun-shy before.

And yet...

"I'll think on it." she says again. It's the best she can do. "I promise."

Boris squeezes her hand and they pass the rest of the concert in silence.

***


	5. If the Chance Was Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How is Boris?" she asked, peeking into the bathroom. Valery had stripped down to his boxers and undershirt and was bent over the tap adjusting the water.
> 
> "Stubborn as ever." he replied with a smile. A fond smile. The rare one. "Worried about you."
> 
> "Why would he be worried about me? I'm not even sure he likes me."
> 
> "Oh. Well, that's a relief then." Valery said, leaning back against the tile wall as his smile grew teeth.
> 
> She cocked her head in confusion. "What is?"
> 
> "He thinks you don't like him either. It's nice to know that of the three of us, I'm the smartest. Because you two share the award for biggest idiot."
> 
> She snorted then, and actually threatened to laugh. "He doesn't like me, Valery. He thinks I talk down to him."
> 
> "You talk down to both of us, Ulana." Valery said, testing the water temperature and then shutting it off. "Don't worry. I like you for it. And he does too, though he won't admit it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Almost-Monday everyone!
> 
> This chapter is coming out a bit early because I'll be spending all of actual Monday helping some friends move. I'll keep this introduction quick since it's just the usual stuff.
> 
> Thank you to Lucas and @kaminaduck for their help beta-reading this fic, and to @cactusowl for his help in keeping all the science straight. I couldn't do this without you.
> 
> And thank you all for your kind words, kudos, and comments. Usually sometime at the midweek I post a sort of "director's commentary" about each chapter, so if you have questions or would like to know about my process, feel free to ask away!
> 
> Much love everyone! I hope you enjoy this installment and have a lovely week!

**February 2, 1988**

Charkov had been right.

And the fact that someone like him can seemingly predict the future horrifies Ulana.

Yet here she is. Exactly where he'd said she would be. Contemplating the mad idea of escape. Not even just escape. Of honest to God _defection._ She would never have dreamed it. Not in a thousand years. The Communist Party and the Soviet Union were not perfect institutions, and she knew that now better than she ever had. But imperfections aside, they let her have her lab, and her work, and a comfortable, independent life whereas a woman like herself might not have those things in other countries. Certainly not some place like the United States or Great Britain. Defection had been an absurd concept to her up to now. Completely pointless. Why leave when what she wanted was right here? She understood why others did it… but her?

Never.

But then, that was exactly the point. She didn't have a reason to before now. Perhaps that's all it takes. Humans are fickle creatures. Not like chemicals and constants that all follow the strictures of scientific law. Human loyalty… human intention… human… everything. It was all messy and inconsistent. 

Or maybe it just appeared that way.

"Care to red-pen this one, Comrade?" Svetlana asks brightly. Ulana hadn't heard her assistant come in. Didn't see her arrive, set down her things, and come to her desk with newspaper and coffee in hand.

She didn't even smell the coffee Svetlana had brought her. That was a first. Ulana just looks up at her rather helplessly as she can see the concern crowding its way onto her young assistant's face.

"Comrade Khomyuk… are you unwell?" she asks, drawing up a little as she looks her over.

"I'm just tired." Ulana replies, dropping her gaze to her desk and shuffling uselessly with some papers..

"It's… not the radiation is it?" she asks her voice delicately framing the words. As if they might cut.

"No no… just." Ulana tries to wave her off. "A lot on my mind is all."

Svetlana purses her lips, clearly dissatisfied at the evasion. "Or…" she taps her finger twice on the newspaper in her hand, giving her mentor a meaningful look. The headline reads,

**BORIS SHCHERBINA: KREMLIN SCION AND WAR HERO MASTERS THE ATOM**

Ulana just gives her a defeated but nearly silent sigh. She doesn't have enough energy to lie, but she knows she must keep quiet. For all their sakes. Especially now. Even thinking about the conversation she had with Boris last week seems like the height of irresponsibility. Potentially dangerous even. One slip is all it would take...

Svetlana nods tacitly and lays the newspaper on her desk. Then once again her face is bright and her voice even brighter. Like the sun breaking through clouds. The sound of it alone almost makes Ulana squint. "I'm going to run down to receiving and see if those reports we sent off for have arrived. And I'll grab you a biscuit from the break room. While I'm gone, be thinking about where you'd like to go for lunch."

"Sveta…" she says, fondness edging out the enervated huskiness of her voice.

"No no. I insist. You look like shit, Comrade Khomyuk, if I may be so bold." She says in a rather mockingly matronly and prim tone that brooked no argument. Though the unexpected expletive matched to the unusual formality earns her a startled laugh. "And if I have to listen to you about lab safety and calculations, you have to listen to me about your well being. You need coffee, something good to eat, and a little time outside this stuffy office. And honestly, that makes two of us." 

Ulana had to smile wearily at that. "Yes… alright."

Svetlana gives a smart bob of her curly head, clearly pleased at having won that little exchange so easily, and struts out of the laboratory.

As Ulana listens to the disappearing echo of her heels she stares down at the paper on her desk. It's an article about Boris. The grainy photograph shows him at a ceremony the previous week receiving a medal for his service in Chernobyl and his excellent showing in Vienna last month. He had probably been wearing that medal at the Bolshoi, but the photograph quality is too poor to make it out. But the sight of his face… even as grim and serious as he looked in the picture, it makes her heart ache.

She remembers his smile at the Bolshoi. How his face had lit up, even past the politician's mask he wore, when he saw her all dressed up. How he'd fawned over her. How his touch had lingered. How he'd kissed her in the booth...

And for a fleeting second, against her will and against all sense, she pictures what it might be like if she did as he asked. If she found some colleague or student here to convey a message to Valery and they all escaped together. What might happen to them in Sweden? What would life together be like? They'd never really considered it. Never discussed the absurd dream of the three of them together. It hadn't even been a dream. None of them had even dared imagine it as far as she was aware. Not really. Not enough to actually try it. She certainly hadn't. It was as if they'd all agreed without saying so that they'd just go back to their lives and live them as before. Perhaps there would be visits and letters, but…

How lovely the image is. What it's like to live in Sweden, Ulana has no real idea. But she pictures something like the northern Russian countryside she visited as a girl with her family. Rolling dust-brown fields of grass, and a stiff wind always. Grim and gray, but beautiful and expansive. One feels eternal in an open place like that.

She feels like they could be eternal in a place like that… for however long they would have.

It wouldn't be very long… 

She rips her thoughts back into line like the crack of a whip. It would first take the help of someone else, and how could she even think to endanger another person like that? After what happened to Valery? After what had happened to Valery at her insistence that he act like a naive, idealistic idiot? Like the naive, idealistic idiot that she was... 

Had been.

No more. She couldn't risk it. She didn't have the stomach for it anymore. She couldn't ask someone to risk their life for that. Not for what? A few stolen years of peace? Just for them? The worry and guilt would kill her before the radiation did. 

And she couldn't do it herself. Her life she would forfeit, but that was the least of her worries, nevermind what Boris said about the fickleness of her courage. No, the true sticking point was that if she messed this up, it was Valery's neck on the chopping block along with whoever she'd pressed into her service. She'd been in a KGB prison. She'd heard the screams. She didn't have the heart to imagine Valery there. Even when he'd come to get her it made her nauseous to see him inside her cell, with his ill-fitting suit and his boyish face. He didn't belong in a place like that.

He didn't belong in a place like Chernobyl either, but that was another train of thought entirely...

But as surely as she didn't have the heart to risk Valery's neck, didn't she have the heart to tell Boris no. Not when he'd looked at her as he did… when he'd whispered "Please" as he did. She was fairly certain she might be the only person on the face of the Earth to hear Boris Shcherbina beg for something.

_Please, Ulya…_ he'd said.

That had left a crack in her heart from stem to stern, and the edges ground together like shards of broken glass.

Svetlana had returned at some point during her musing. She sets a napkin down with a few jam-filled cookies, and for a brief moment Ulana is back in the trailer in Chernobyl, getting her first impression of Boris Shcherbina. 

Doting. Kind. And with an irrepressible sweet tooth.

And the hero of Chernobyl, according to the article. The genius behind the helicopter sorties that dropped tons upon tons of sand and boron onto the open reactor core.

Fabrications. All of it. Boris was a hero certainly, but not for the reasons they were saying.

"They have anything good to say?" Svetlana asks, nodding to the paper.

"One can only say good things about Comrade Deputy Chairman Boris Shcherbina." she replies, thinly smiling up at her. "He's a good man."

Svetlana mirrors the expression as she takes her mentor's hand. "I'm sorry you're unwell. If I can do anything to help, Ulana." she says, her voice low.

Ulana places her hand over her young compatriot's and squeezes tight. Until her tendons stand out under her thin skin. "I know, Svetlana. I know."

"I meant what I said earlier." she warns, her tone pushy and boisterous as she steps back to her desk and the moment slips away from them. "Tell me where you want me to take you to lunch. I insist."

"I will. I promise." she says, the words tasting strange in her mouth now.

She'd promised Boris she would think about defection too...

She does make good on her promise to Svetlana, opting for a little shop nearby that serves piping hot soup. A perfect place for a miserable day in February, and even more perfect for its quiet little booths that keep prying ears at bay.

"Tell me about Boris Shcherbina." Svetlana implores, stirring her soup with her chin resting on her hand. "You don't talk about him much and forgive me, but I sensed you were being less than truthful when you said one can only say good things about him."

Ulana can't help but smile fondly, with a sparkle of humor in her eyes. "Perhaps that was a stretch of the truth. Comrade Shcherbina is a boorish, bullish, brute of an apparatchik who bellows things into existence as often as he does anything else. He's not a man of science. He's barely a man of anything other than pure, undiluted statecraft and politicking. And…" she sighs, that fond smile still painting her lips. "And were it not for him, despite all the efforts myself, Comrade Legasov and all the learned and capable people that came to help, Chernobyl would still be spewing radiation like a geyser."

Svetlana smiles then, an enraptured glow lighting in her eyes as she delightedly listens to her mentor's tale.

"But for all his overbearingness, I… admire Boris Shcherbina deeply. The Soviet Union owes him a great debt. And while I'll pretend a great many things for appearances and safety, I won't otherwise pretend on that front. He made sure we got everything we ever needed. Resources, materials… lunar rovers even! He got us the lunar rovers for the rooftops. And men. Men by the thousands." Her eyes grow a little dim and distant. "He was the one that garnered us the permission to kill people. To literally feed them to the reactor. It was all him. He bore the brunt of that awful necessity. And he still bears the guilt. They make him wear medals for it." she sighs, pausing to eat a few bites. "We hated each other at first, of course. I talked down to him, and he tried to bully me. It's dangerous for any two people to share stubbornness in common as we did. But somehow… somehow we grew close."

There's a change in Svetlana's face, and she pinches her lips together. She knows how and why the two charging bears of Ulana and Boris didn't destroy each other. It's the same reason that anything to do with Chernobyl ever worked out at all.

Valery Legasov.

"Boris is not a man of words. He is a man of action. He won't tell you he cares, but he'll show you if you're looking. And he pays attention… he's sharper than he seems at first. Or at least… seemed to me. Perhaps it was my assumptions about him that made him seem dull in my estimation, but I simply didn't know what I was looking for. His intelligence lies in people… he is a great manager and manipulator of people. He knows what people need before they do. Senses trouble before it starts. It was Boris who figured out I had been jailed by the KGB while I was conducting interviews in Moscow."

"Really?"

"He'd sent someone to check up on me and the hospital staff told them what had happened. He was going to try and quietly come to my rescue so as not to make a fuss or draw further attention to me but, of course, that was not good enough for Valery. No, he went right up to the Deputy Chairman of the KGB and… well, nevermind. I shouldn't talk about it here. What matters is I was released one way or another."

Svetlana smiled a little, leaning conspiratorially and almost gossipingly close. "What's Boris like really?"

Ulana mirrors her expression, a wistful pull of her thin mouth. "He's a brute. But… he's gentle and kind when he wants to be. He doted on us when he could. Sweets and things brought into that hell hole just for us. He liked seeing… him smile. We both did."

"And… him?" she said. "What was he like?"

Her eyes go distant for a moment. Glassy and bright. "Clever. So clever it hurt. But earnest… and selfless. He could see beauty in the strangest places. Equations and figures… it was all a dance to him. He could make it into… art. Into a story. I swear to you, when he testified at the trial?" she lowers her voice. "He had the whole room on the edge of their seats. And for what? For the explanation of how a nuclear reactor works. I've seen students and even professionals fall asleep in lectures on this very subject, but to see him tell it? He made a tale of it. He made _art_ out of it, Sveta. And now… ah well." She can't finish it. Not where someone might overhear.

"You love them." Svetlana says, the words falling so softly that Ulana scarce hears them. "Both of them.

But she does hear them. And she nods. Why hide it now?

"And they love you, I'd wager."

"He shouldn't." Ulana doesn't clarify who but she doesn't need to. "I'm the one that pushed him."

"But he's the one that made the choice. It's not your fault."

"I gave him hope that it might bring about change, and I was wrong. They silenced him. Boris was right and he should have listened to him, not me. And Boris should hang it over my head for the rest of my life, or better yet hang me with it."

"But he won't." Svetlana said. "Because he's gentle like you said. And if he understands people as well as you say, he knows that you've piled plenty of guilt on yourself already. You don't deserve that guilt. He knows that your…" She stumbles for a word. "Your colleague made his choices."

Ulana nods only half convinced. "I suppose."

***

**May 7, 1986 **

Valery booked himself and Ulana a hotel room in Moscow as far away from the prison as he could. Ulana was confused by that at first. Valery lived in Moscow. Couldn't they just go to his apartment? But no, she quickly realized. It would be crawling with KGB bugs as would the room she'd been staying in near the hospital. And they needed to talk freely.

She didn't want to talk though. She didn't want to think about this anymore. As weak and useless as it made her feel, she had been telling Valery the truth when she said she was tired of this work. It was rotten and awful. She was a scientist, not an investigator, and as such was used to clean tables and tidy figures. The raw suffering of these men was not something she was made to stomach. She’d seen enough of it as a child during the Nazi invasion. That was part of the reason she went into the sciences in the first place.

Valery had been right though. As miserable as it made her… as _horrified_ as it had left her, she wasn't going to stop. Pause? Yes. Gather herself? If need be. But she wouldn't stop. She _couldn't_ stop. Not until she had an answer that satisfied her, and so far, she'd gotten no answers from the operators. Only more questions. But if that was the way of things, then so be it. She would pick and pick at this frustrating knot until it came apart.

Or until she did.

She dropped her things on the table by the door and rubbed her hands down the front of her smock. She was still in her bleach-white uniform from the hospital. How absurd she must look. And how awful she must smell… the disinfectant and the blood still clung to her clothes along with the musty scent of damp concrete walls and peeling paint…

She saw Toptunov's face again. The little rivulet of impossibly thin blood trickling out of his nose…

She closed her eyes, but it didn't help.

"I brought you some clothes." Valery said, picking up on her helpless discomfort. "From your room at the other hotel and a few things from your room in Pripyat. I don't promise I that I brought everything you'd need but… I thought..."

She spared him with a grateful smile. "You don't have to stay and dote on me, Valery. I'm a big girl."

"Of course I don't have to." he replied, wringing his fingers together. "You'd resent me if I felt like I had to."

She gave an incline of her head in agreement.

"But can I stay and dote on you?"

"If you must."

"I must." he said, a smile curling his thin lips. "I _want_ to. Besides, Boris isn't here to do it."

"Ugh." she huffed, stripping out of her apron and kicking off her shoes. "Boris. He'd be lecturing me up one side and down the other, no doubt."

"Probably." Valery agreed with a small shrug. "But he was the one who found out about what had happened to you."

Her eyebrows peaked. "Really?"

"He'd sent one of his aides to check on you at the hospital… see if you needed anything. They brought us the news. We would have never known otherwise. Not for a long time anyway."

Ulana pouted her lips in consideration, still looking quite surprised but she said nothing more.

A humorless smile spread across Valery's lips. "I actually chased down the Deputy Chairman of the KGB in the halls of the Kremlin to get you back."

She looked at him aghast. "You didn't."

"I most certainly did. In front of God and everyone. I probably gave Boris a fucking heart attack."

She laughed then. A strange sound in the silence and the circumstance. "I would have loved to have seen his face."

"I'm sure the two of us will get to him before the radiation will." 

And then just like that, the pervasive quiet is back, like the click of a lightswitch.

"Let me run you a bath, Ulana." Valery said. 

"I thought you weren't going to dote on me."

"I didn't say I wouldn't. I said I didn't have to."

"Semantics." she teased, waving him off.

Valery just gave a blithely guilty shrug and headed for the bathroom. 

The hotel room was plain but very comfortable and spacious. Nicer than any she'd ever stayed in. Nicer even than her apartment back in Minsk. This was probably Boris's doing as well. If anyone would dote with such "opulence," it would be him. He did it all the time, pretending he was the one indulging, but the ruse was paper thin. Boorish and bullish as he was, he was sweet in his strangely veiled and creaky sort of way.

He'd still never made a move towards her, not that she'd given him much of a chance to. They were hardly ever alone together, but he'd never made so much as a sidelong comment. She imagined that he knew that she knew about him and Valery. And she was even more certain that he knew about her and Valery, of course. But he'd kept his distance and not mentioned any of it even obliquely. At first she'd been grateful, as his gruff nature and her initial perception of him as lacking intellectual curiosity had put her off. But now? Now that she thought of him back at Pripyat? 

Alone? 

He'd sent his Valery to her…

And that had left Boris in that irradiated hell alone.

"How is Boris?" she asked, peeking into the bathroom. Valery had stripped down to his boxers and undershirt and was bent over the tap adjusting the water.

"Stubborn as ever." he replied with a smile. A fond smile. The rare one. "Worried about you."

"Why would he be worried about me? I'm not even sure he likes me."

"Oh. Well, that's a relief then." Valery said, leaning back against the tile wall as his smile grew teeth.

She cocked her head in confusion. "What is?"

"He thinks you don't like him either. It's nice to know that of the three of us, I'm the smartest. Because you two share the award for biggest idiot."

She snorted then, and actually threatened to laugh. "He doesn't like me, Valery. He thinks I talk down to him."

"You talk down to both of us, Ulana." Valery said, testing the water temperature and then shutting it off. "Don't worry. I like you for it. And he does too, though he won't admit it." He stood from the tub edge. "Shall I leave you to it or…" he left the implication open.

"Stay." she answered quickly. _I'm not ready to be alone with the things in my head right now._ her face quite clearly said.

Valery fought a pitying look, knowing full well that she wouldn't appreciate it, and instead distracted himself by helping her get undressed. He took her smock-like dress to toss it with her other hospital clothes, returning to find her already sunk into the water up to her chin. Her bony knees stuck out above the water, but there was naught to be done. The tub was too small, though it was still deep enough for a good soak.

For a long while they sat with only the soft sounds of the bathwater underpinning the quiet. Valery lit a cigarette, offering her one but she waved him away. She made a play at fussing about with soap and a washcloth, before finally just leaning her head back against the wall and visibly willing the warm water to soak away the tension in her body. And it worked at least a little, but her eyes kept slipping closed, only to pop open again as if she were remembering she left the stove on. 

But that wasn't what she was remembering, Valery knew. She was seeing them behind her shuttered eyes… those men she'd interviewed. Akimov and Toptunov. And Dyatlov. It must've been horrible. As horrible as he had imagined or worse. Guilt gnawed at him for sending her there, but there had been no other way. And truthfully he had been glad it was her. She was skeptical but compassionate… he had needed someone like that there. Just as he'd needed Boris to help him with the miners while she'd been away.

But he would never live down what it had done to her.

"Did Boris ever tell you about the time I talked down to Gorbachev." he said by way of distraction.

It worked. The corners of her mouth turned up, seemingly against her will. "No… when was this?"

"When…" he chuckled to himself before taking a slow drag off his cigarette. "I say this like there was only one time."

"Valera!" Ulana sounded scandalized. "You're going to get yourself killed. What did you say?"

"I had been pestering Boris about the size of the exclusion zone the whole day. I'd argued with him about it too. Insulted him without meaning to."

"What did you say to him?"

"I called him an apparatchik."

"He is."

"I could have been more polite. I _should_ have been more polite, especially given where I was. It hadn't occurred to me that the work site was bugged by the KGB." Valery replied, coming to sit on the lid of the toilet. "But I was upset and I'd meant to be insulting. Not to him, but to whatever hapless fool decided the exclusion zone should be thirty fucking kilometers. But he took umbrage at it. Though I didn't really understand why until later. It wasn't the insult he was worried about. It was whoever was listening to me disparage Party leadership."

"Ah. He's smart our Boris. Sometimes."

"Most of the time."

She cut him a slyly amused look. "You were going to tell me about yelling at Gorbachev."

"Right. I wasn't getting anywhere with Boris… I know why now. He was trying to work it behind the scenes with Ryzhkov, but he couldn't say anything because… well, nevermind. We were on the phone with Gorbachev that afternoon and I brought up the exclusion zone. Gorbachev said he didn't want any questions from me. He just wanted me to focus on the reactor and to tell him when this would be over."

If Ulana had rolled her eyes any harder they might have fallen out of her head and into the bathwater. But she smirked too, mostly in anticipation of what he would say next. "What did you tell him?"

"That the halflife of Plutonium-239 is twenty-four thousand years and that the area around Chernobyl wouldn't be inhabitable until that time had passed."

Her eyes widened, but her expression was as pleased as it was shocked. "What did he say?"

"Nothing. He hung up on us." Valery grinned rather blithely.

She laughed a little, cocking her head to look at him fondly. "Valera, dear…" she sighed.

He laughed as well staring up at the dingy ceiling. "You should have seen Boris's face."

"Oh I'm seeing it." She said closing her eyes. And smiling. And still laughing. She could see his face now, grim and gray as a thundercloud, but handsome. A good face. A face that made her feel, despite all her reservations about him… it was a face whose hard lines made her feel safe.

"We're lucky we have him." Valery said, flicking spent ashes into the sink. "He's amazing. Anything I ask for… no matter how strange or insurmountable. Or horrible… He can get it for me."

"You're smitten, Valera." She said with a curl of a smile.

"It's true! He can!"

"And it's true you're utterly smitten with him. And he with you, I'd wager."

"I'm smitten with you too, you know." He said, not quite looking up at her through his pale lashes.

"Well… certain politicians not withstanding, you do sometimes have good taste. As do I." She leaned forward then, hands braced on the side of the tub so that she could capture his lips for a moment. It was oddly chaste and less awkward than the position or situation should have allowed. Then she pulled the plug in the drain and made to stand. "Come on. I'm going to be as wrinkled as my grandmother if I stay in this water much longer."

"Do you feel better?" Valery reached into the cabinet and pulled a towel for her, helping her to stand with the other arm.

"Yes. And I'll feel better still sleeping on a real bed and not a concrete slab."

He let her dry herself off, choosing instead to fetch the nightgown he'd brought her along with a pair of panties. Absurdly, he fought not to blush when he handed them to her. The whole thing seemed painfully familiar and intimate in a way they'd never quite been before. All their meetings, both with her and with Boris, had been framed with a sense that neither could stay long. Both arrived and left fully clothed. Things like pajamas… bathing… even sleeping… these were all forbidden to them. And so Valery was suddenly and acutely aware that this situation had an intimacy and a newness all its own.

Ulana took the underwear but waved off the nightgown much to his surprise. She tossed the other garment on the nightstand and drew back the covers.

"Shall I take the couch?" Valery asked, still lingering in the bathroom doorway with eyes politely averted. He still looked at her though, but only with the edges of his vision.

She cut him a wry grin, taking in his boyish awkwardness. He'd fucked her like a rutting animal just before she had left for Moscow, and yet he still had the galling decency to blush. "No." She said, slipping between the sheets. "That's why I'm not bothering with the nightgown. Undress and come to bed with me, Valera. I doubt we'll get a chance like this again."

Valery didn't need to be told twice, but his movements were still slow and measured. Almost as if he were asking for permission before each presumed task. Cigarettes on the bedside table. Undershirt first. Then his briefs. And last, almost ludicrously, his socks.

Ulana held her arms out to him as he slipped into bed with her, and when he pressed his body flush to hers, she wrapped herself around him until they touched from forehead to hips. And for a moment she did nothing but breathe. No kisses. No caresses. She just held onto him, eyes open and nails dug in as if he might dissolve from her grasp. But after a few shuddering breaths she relaxed, pulling him on top of her.

Valery had forgotten how soft she was. It had been awhile since their night together. He'd been with Boris so much while she’d been in Moscow, and all he'd known was the unforgiving and unmistakably male mountain that was his lover. He felt comfortably small with Boris. But he felt comfortably… comfortable with Ulana. She wasn't petite, but she was soft and her body gave when he pushed against it. It was different and that difference made his head spin as all his blood seemed to flood down low in his core all at once.

He'd missed her, he realized. And she'd missed him.

He kissed her then, slow and deep. Sort of how he imagined Boris kissed him. Or perhaps would kiss her given the chance. Unhurried and unhindered. Easy. He could be easy with her tonight. No one was listening. No one was watching to care about appearances. Nothing to worry about but soothing the ache of the last few days for both of them.

The situation in Chernobyl never got better. The news only ever seemed to be worse and worse. More poison. More deaths. And never enough time. And yet against all odds they were finding truly astonishing moments of joy and comfort together. All three of them. Even Ulana and Boris together… perhaps they'd not ventured to each other's bed yet, but they were taking comfort in each other all the same, albeit in small and strangely oblique ways. And they both took comfort in Valery too. 

Ulana's slender hands found their way between Valery's legs as he pushed her thighs apart. He wasn't hard yet. They'd barely gotten started, but it still felt rapturous to have her hands cupping him and it sent his breath seething between his teeth. He cradled her to him, kissing and kissing, first her lips and then the long white column of her throat. Down and down… lower and lower… brushing his lips over the peak of each breast. And then with a shuddering heave of his shoulders, he withdrew from her touch to crouch between her knees.

He looked up at her, over the soft plane of her stomach, eyes clearly asking permission. As if she'd deny him. As if he was asking for himself.

"Go on, Valera." she said, threading one hand into the hair just behind his ear. "If that's what you want."

"It is." he said, more than a little breathless, letting his fingers slip up the cleft of her pussy.

She smiled, amused and flustered all at once. "You're sweet, Valera. Did anyone ever tell you that?"

That got her a smile. The one that made him look young and bashful. "Boris does." Valery said before curling himself beneath her and delving his tongue into the dark thatch of hair between her legs.

Her stomach turned a little flip at that, both from Valery's ministrations and from, strangely, the mention of Boris. The thought of him in bed. Of him between Valery's legs or the other way around. Of Boris calling him sweet. Of him seeing Valery like this. It was an emotion she couldn't quite pin a name to. Curiosity was the best she could do. A jealous, craving sort of curiosity. But for what exactly? She wasn't entirely sure of that either, but every mention of Boris that evening had fanned that particular flame. She wanted… not to have him to herself, but rather… rather for inclusion? To step into that circle with them...

But to what end? What would that look like? That was still the question. She was still fairly certain that Boris despised her… and yet...

"Tell me." she felt herself say. And she immediately regretted the loss of Valery's tongue on her when he looked up at her, but he was quick to replace it with his fingers. Clever fingers that circled slowly with practiced pressure. He'd been a quick study of what made her tick.

"About Boris?" He asked, pink lips shiny with her wetness. He wasn't smiling, but he still looked so sweet. Almost angelic in the most debauched way, with his fair hair mussed over his forehead, and his rough cheeks underpinned with their beautiful rosy stain, and eyes that seemed to catch every bit of light in the room.

"Yes." the word escapes her on a hiss, half in answer and half in ecstasy as she chased his touch.

Valery pushed himself up and over her, using his free hand to hook a lock of her dark hair behind her ear. "I'm not half as sweet as he is, Ulya." He told her, curling his fingers into the damp warmth of her pussy. "Not half as sweet. Or as gentle. Or as _good._ At least…" There's a devilish bend of his lips. "At least as long as his patience holds out." He punctuated this with a deep thrust of two fingers up to the second knuckle, dragging them back out again with exquisite precision. "Then it's a coin toss. Sometimes he melts. He melts, Ulya. Can you imagine it? I've seen it. I've seen him just go limp in my arms as I suck him. I can take my time… whatever I'd like. And he just holds on and I can make him come so easily. He just lets me have him… however I want..."

He'd been stroking her inner walls all the while, drawing beautiful sounds from her throat that she no longer bothered to choke back or hide. She was whining and keening as she chased the sensation, finally giving up all pretense of patience and grabbing him by the elbow. Valery didn't make her wait. He let her ride his hand with nails dug in and head thrown back so that her dark hair spilled across the pillowcase like ink. He could feel her muscles working around him, and he couldn't help but imagine how that would feel on other parts of his body. Squeezing… convulsing… 

She came soon after with a shout vaguely shaped like his name. She bucked and ground herself down on his fingers chasing down every last shivering ripple of pleasure she could find before collapsing back onto the mattress with a satisfied little sigh.

As the aftershocks subsided, Ulana noticed that Valery's hand had disappeared between his own legs, and there was a tight flex of his upper arm as he squeezed the base of his cock. She followed the line of his arm down, finding where he was gripping himself in a trembling fist.

"You said it was a coin toss." she whispered huskily. "What's the other side of the coin?"

Initially her only answer was a ragged moan, but eventually he forced enough air into his lungs to speak. But first he kissed her. If it could be called a kiss. He greedily plundered her mouth even as he trembled over her with want.

"He fucks me like he owns me." he said finally, his voice as shaky as he was.

Ulana felt something flame hot and hungry low in her body. "Show me." she rasps, spreading her thighs in invitation.

He needed no further coercion. The soft, enraptured look in his eye sharpened as he focused squarely on her. With the hand he was already gripping himself with, he lined up the head of his cock and pushed into her.

"Yes, Valera!" she keened, wrapping her legs and arms around him. "Fuck me, darling. Fuck me…"

Valery did. How he did. He fucked her with steady rolling strokes. He cupped her breasts and pulled at her hips and eventually set his teeth against her collarbone before he caught himself.

"I'm sorry." He said, drawing in on himself a little thought his greedy hips never lost their insistent rhythm. "I shouldn't… I shouldn't… Ah, Ulya you're so warm…"

"You shouldn't what, Valera?" She said drawing his face up to hers. He looked even more deliciously debauched now, with his hair in disarray and his pupils swollen and dark. His want had stolen his voice now. All he could do was whimper and nuzzle into her hand. "Shouldn't use your teeth?"

He nodded helplessly, grimacing even as he kept thrusting. Kept chasing his pleasure within her.

God, was there anything more sweet and beautiful than this?

"Does Boris use his teeth on you?" Ulana asked.

He nodded again, further hiding his face in her palm.

"Do you like it?"

"I love it." he practically whined.

"Then do it, Valera. Aren't you supposed to ask for what you want?"

He shuddered and collapsed over her. He first pressed a moan into her skin, then his teeth. It wasn't a proper bite. Not really. He could leave no trace on her and by God he wanted to. But the taste of her skin. The feel her pulse in the flesh he pinched ever so gently between his teeth. It inflamed him, and he cried out when he did it, half in frustration and half in blinding satisfaction. 

The things he wanted to do with her. And with Boris. And with her _and_ Boris. It was positively carnal. Everything they tried. Every new line they crossed. It only fanned the flame that burned in Valery's gut. Only made him want more… and there only ever seemed to be more to be had. More more more. More ways to kiss. More ways to touch. More ways to feel with teeth and tongues and everything… his whole body seemed to be a conduit for pleasure. And it was addictive. Shamefully addictive, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Not really.

Especially not now as he fucked into the tight warmth of Ulana's body with his teeth gently set against her collarbone and his fingers digging into her hip bones.

"I'm close Valera… Your fingers…" she said, the words thick and clumsy on her tongue.

Her words snapped him to and he reacted instantly, his thumb pressing down on the slippery little nub of her clit in tight little circles. She crumbled under him again as pleasure started washing out from her core in growing waves. The pressure was building and her vision was starting to corrode at the edges.

Valery was out of his mind. Everything was autopilot. Everything was instinct. He'd been reduced to nothing but a container for the pleasure flooding through him. The pressure in his gut was building and building… and he could feel Ulana gripping up around him as her orgasm began to take hold.

She screamed his name. Actually screamed it when she came. And the sound of his name rent with pleasure and ringing off the walls had his balls tightening and his cock swelling against the convulsing walls of her pussy.

And he came too. He came so hard he nearly went blind with it. His open mouth was buried against her throat, but he screamed too. It might've been her name or it might've been some wordless declaration of ecstasy as he fucked wantonly up into the deliciously hot clutch of her body, emptying himself into her until he felt lightheaded… like he might drift away if she weren't still holding onto him.

After a moment of shallow panting, Valery rolled to his side. The reckless abandon… the careless coveting… it melted from his face as he cradled Ulana to him. He stroked her face and skated his fingers over her skin which bore light impressions of his teeth.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, eyes full of guilt. He was curling in on himself already, seeming to be aghast at what he had done.

_None of that,_ Ulana thought.

"No, Valera darling." she whispered, drawing him in for a kiss, featherlight and luscious. "I enjoyed it. Did you?"

"Yes… yes, Ulya. So much."

"So did I." 

"You're incredible." he said, glassy eyed and breathless.

He hid his face against her throat and she let him. But she kept speaking to him, cradling him against her chest. "Where would we be without you, Valera?"

"I'm just a scientist." he insisted.

"So am I. I wasn't talking about Chernobyl." She smiled then, all mirth and moonlight, which crept through the thin curtains. And she kissed him again, still hungry but lazy. Her want still simmered, gentled by their climax but heightened all the same. She wanted more than a stolen night. She wanted…

She wanted... 

They were both growing drowsier by the second and eventually Valery gave in to a cavernous yawn which incited one in Ulana in turn. 

"Are you sure I shouldn't take the couch?" he asked, face still buried in the crook of her neck.

"I'm sure." she replied, tucking one hand around his ribs. "Unless you want to?"

"I want to be right here." he said stretching up to steal another kiss before tucking her smaller frame against his. 

"Then we should both have what we want." she replied, settling onto his freckled chest with a contented sigh.

And so Ulana fell into a deep untroubled sleep, thanks to a soft bed, and Valery's chest hair tickling her nose, and his arms holding her close. Was there anything more blissful?

Perhaps not. But she still wondered, as the swelling tide of sleep rose up to claim her, what it might be like to have Boris's bulk weighing down the mattress behind Valery, his strong, sinewy arms encircling them both.

***

**February 4, 1988**

Two days slip by in a sort of numb haze. Two days where Ulana can barely concentrate on any of her work. Her eyes keep straying to the newspaper on her desk. The article about Boris and his shiny new medal. She keeps thinking about him that night at the Bolshoi… how he'd looked at her with those wounded eyes, begging her to help him get Valery out of the country.

He'd begged. Boris Shcherbina had fucking said "Please" and yet still she wavered. What had happened to her? At this time last year, she'd been the one talking a big game about dissent and nigh treason. Now?

Now, she was weak. She couldn't fathom it. Couldn't fathom putting another person in danger. Or putting Valery in danger.

Even though she wanted to give Boris what he wanted. That faint glimmer of hope illumines mages of the life they might have together and it haunts her. Valery had talked some nonsense about a cottage in the country together, and it had been just that. Nonsense. But now? God, now she could picture it. Even though she really had no idea what the countryside in Sweden looked like.

And to make matters worse, she knew that Svetlana, poor girl, was watching. That the perceptive young woman could see her turmoil. After lunch that day, her assistant had pretended to go about her routine, but Ulana would catch her looking at her, concern hooding her usually bright eyes. And Ulana knew she eventually wouldn't be able to stand just watching anymore.

It took two days, which was longer than Ulana expected, but Svetlana did eventually crack.

"I want something warm to drink, but I don't want the stale tea in the breakroom. Come take a walk with me." she says, hands set smartly on her hips.

"It's freezing outside, Svetlana."

"And it's stuffy and awful in here. My eyes hurt. I want to look out farther than this wall. Come on." She puts out her hand.

Ulana looks up at her. The young woman strangely reminds her of Boris just then, with her squared shoulders and her thundercloud of an expression. Just like him, she wasn't taking no for an answer, so Ulana saves herself the indignity of being bodily dragged from her office by her own assistant and allows herself to be pulled along.

They walk two blocks in companionable but professional conversation about a detail for their upcoming paper that they needed to go over when they got back to the lab. They purchase their tea in little paper cups and then Ulana starts back towards the Institute. But Svetlana clearly has other ideas, turning them instead to go back by the long route..

"Svetlana, it's freezing my dear." Ulana says.

But Svetlana merely looks at her with a flat and unwavering expression. She's going to have to tell her, Ulana realizes. And she doesn't want to tell her. Telling her feels like poisoning the air with possibility. Perhaps with hope? Or excitement? That would be so terribly dangerous.

There's a park between the tea shop and the Institute, and there they find a bench to share, blowing on their tea and crowding around it for warmth. It really is frigid outside, so much so that their breath steams in the air over their paper cups. But they can't go back to the office. Not if Ulana is going to be able to talk openly. Svetlana knows enough to know that. And Ulana knows that her assistant is not going to let this go.

"What is it, Ulana?" Svetlana asks, looking over at her mentor. Her expression is still iron clad in its resolve, but there is sympathy there as well. She clearly recognizes that she's asking a hard question, but she's also not letting her wriggle out of it.

Ulana breathes in the steam from her tea for a moment and feels something within her give. Whether her resolve finally broke or the seed of hope Boris had planted in her heart had finally taken root, she can't say. But she has to tell her. And she also has to warn her. 

"If I tell you, you must promise to never tell a soul." Ulana says softly. "And furthermore, you must promise me… promise me you won't get any ideas about actually helping me."

Svetlana frowns a little at that, turning more squarely towards her. "Alright, Ulana. Alright. What is it?"

She licks her lips and takes a sip of her tea as fortification. "I saw Boris Shcherbina this weekend."

Svetlana's eyebrows shoot up. "You did?"

"He went to the International Atomic Energy Agency in Vienna… their conference last week."

Her frown returns. "Why would they send a bureaucrat to-" She stops herself and thinks about what she's saying, biting off the rest of the sentence with an audible click of her teeth.

"Because they couldn't send Valery Legasov." Ulana supplies.

Svetlana deflates a little at that. The whole thing is still so awful to her. That such a passionate scientist… and such an articulate one by Ulana's description, would be silenced by the State. Just for telling the truth. "What did Comrade Shcherbina have to say about the conference?"

"He had been brought there to discuss our long-term solutions for Chernobyl and their implementation." She explains. "The Liquidators. The Lunar rovers we used for debris cleanup. What we learned about the effectiveness of decontamination procedures in the long term. There's scarce little information on that front, especially in the West. And truthfully, he's actually a rather excellent candidate for speaking on such matters. Much of the planning and implementation was his doing. Valery and I were just generating ideas and numbers."

"But what's troubling you, then?"

Ulana cuts her eyes around the largely vacated park and, despite there being no one even remotely in earshot, she lowers her voice. "He met a Swedish scientist there. Apparently, the Swedes are having a hard time with the cleanup of the Chernobyl fallout. And…" Ulana pauses and shakes her head. "I hesitate to even tell you."

"Ulana, please… whatever it is that's troubling you is troubling me."

Ulana takes a deep breath. "Boris, fool that he is, met with this scientist in secret. And the scientist told him that the Swedes wanted to know what happened to Valery Legasov. They'd hoped to have his input there in Vienna, and perhaps be able to speak to him personally. Comrade Shcherbina told him about the State's silencing of Legasov… and… well…" here she lowers her voice further. "Defection was floated as a possible solution."

Svetlana's mouth falls open in a strangely elated sort of horror, and the sight of it makes Ulana's heart sink. 

"What did Comrade Shcherbina say?" Svetlana whispers, sitting forward with unbridled interest.

"I told you he's a fool. And a desperate fool at that. He not only said he could get the Swedes Legasov, but he offered them me and himself as well."

"No…" Svetlana shakes her head, but she still has a most unsettling smile tickling the corners of her gaping mouth. "Are… are you?"

Ulana just shakes her head. "I… I don't think I can. What sort of life would that be out there? And the danger to Valer… to Comrade Legasov? The KGB would kill him if they found out about that meeting. And if we tried it, they'd likely kill all three of us and anyone who helped."

"But if you got away with it?"

Ulana shakes her head even harder. "Please, Svetlana... "

"How… how would Comrade Shcherbina contact him though? Comrade Legasov, I mean? Neither of you are allowed to speak to him, right?"

"That's… the part that's truly troubling me." she sighs. "Comrade Shcherbina could secure our passage to Sweden… the Swedish government would help him. It would…" she sighs again and weighs telling her, but it's too late. She knows by the look on her assistant's face that she'll pester her until the heat death of the universe for every scrap of detail. "It would be my responsibility to use my professional connections to get a message to Professor Legasov at the Kurchatov Institute."

"Ooh…" Svetlana sighed, going a little starry eyed at the prospect.

"I told him no, of course." Ulana went on quickly, hoping to censure the adventurous twinkle blooming in Svetlana's eyes. 

"You did?" she asks. "Why?"

"Because we're not going to live that long anyway. And it's not worth… it's not worth risking anyone's life, let alone someone other than the three of us. After… after what my daring and my pushing did to Valery? I can't..." she swallows hard at having spoken the name aloud. "I already will never forgive myself. I can't add someone else's demise to that guilt."

"But… Ulana… what if-"

"No." She cuts her off with a gently rebuking sharpness. "I told you to not get ideas. This was what I meant."

Svetlana just shakes her head, and takes a long sip of her tea. "You're not even going to try?"

"Not speaking to Valery Legasov is the best way to keep him safe." Ulana said, the words coming out almost like a well-rehearsed mantra. "I shouldn't even be talking to you about him.

Svetlana grinds her teeth in frustration. "I guess I see why this has been bothering you."

Ulana snorts. "Only a little."

"What does Comrade Shcherbina think?"

"He… asked me to think on it. I think he thinks we could pull it off. Of course this is the man who thought we could cut a deal with the KGB to get the reactors retrofitted, so I'm not sure I trust his judgement."

There is a long silence and then…

"Well, to be fair to him, you never really tried his idea." Svetlana says. "It was yours that was tried and failed."

Ulana blinks in true surprise at that. Svetlana was sharp, but usually that sharpness was not aimed at her. "What would you have me do, Sveta?"

"It's not my place to ask anything of you. I'm just your assistant. But you said Comrade Shcherbina is wise and clever, even if he isn't as educated as you or Comrade Legasov. That he understood people and situations better than either of you combined. And he asked you to keep thinking about it. So… Keep thinking about it." she replies. "Come on. I'm freezing."

They walk back to the institute under a heavy cloud of pensieve silence.

***


	6. The Cigarette Still Burns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charkov had been right. 
> 
> Why worry about what wasn't going to happen? 
> 
> Valery had made a grand show with his testimony last summer. And he'd looked the head of the KGB in the eye and all but dared him to shoot him. He'd asked what would happen if he refused to follow his orders. He'd been brave in the courtroom. And he knew what came to brave men… So why not poke the sleeping bear of the State further? What could he lose now that his life was forfeit?
> 
> But Charkov had been unshaken. Unperturbed even. About as bothered as bear by a precocious baby fox. He'd known the truth. He'd seen the truth. His truth anyway. Valery was just a coward. Unheroic. Brave perhaps, but not brave enough. Not brave when it could have mattered like in Vienna, or a decade ago when Volkov was being discredited. No... cowardice was his legacy. Now and forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday everyone!
> 
> So... welcome to the halfway point! And if you've read the chapter summary, you know that we're finally going to check on dear Valery in the "present" timeline. I want to warn everyone, this is the chapter where all the really hefty tags and warnings come into play. The ones about attempted suicide, radiation-related illness, and so forth. It also ends on something of a cliff-hanger, but don't fret too much. The fic is finished, so I'll be updating regularly! We're only at the halfway done! Everyone hang tight!
> 
> Speaking of updates, Chapter 7 will likely be early this time because my ballet company moves into the theatre next week. And the chapter after that might be a touch late. But updates are coming. Again... the fic is done. This is just a matter of my editing schedule.
> 
> And speaking of editing, many thanks to @kaminaduck and Lucas for their beta-reading, and to @cactusowl for acting as my science advisor. 
> 
> And thank all of you for reading and commenting. I live for your feedback. And if you want to get a little behind-the-writing glimpse, I do post a sort of "director commentary" over on my Tumblr @littlethingwithfeathers. 
> 
> Alright... I think that's all my housekeeping! On to the chapter!

**March 7, 1988**

Charkov had been right. 

Why worry about what wasn't going to happen? 

Valery had made a grand show with his testimony last summer. And he'd looked the head of the KGB in the eye and all but dared him to shoot him. He'd asked what would happen if he refused to follow his orders. He'd been brave in the courtroom. And he knew what came to brave men… So why not poke the sleeping bear of the State further? What could he lose now that his life was forfeit?

But Charkov had been unshaken. Unperturbed even. About as bothered as bear by a precocious baby fox. He'd known the truth. He'd seen the truth. His truth anyway. Valery was just a coward. Unheroic. Brave perhaps, but not brave enough. Not brave when it could have mattered like in Vienna, or a decade ago when Volkov was being discredited. No... cowardice was his legacy. Now and forever.

Charkov had been right about that, too. He'd been a coward all his life. Careful in his risks, if they then could even be called risks. He had built his position in the Party and at Kurchatov on a tight and unassailable foundation of careful maneuvering, not risk. He only stuck out his neck when there was no axe or rope in sight. Never conniving. Never colluding. And always careful. _Always_

And that's what he was now. A careful coward. And it's what he would always be. Because Charkov was right. Valery wasn't going to risk the lives of his beloved friends… were they just colleagues now? Former colleagues even? But… Had they been something more? Or was it all a strange dream? He remembered something… telling them perhaps about a house in the country. A cat… his work…

_And them…_

It didn't matter now. It didn't bear dwelling on. That had been erased along with him. Erased from the story forever. Even from just the story they could tell themselves. Because they couldn't tell themselves the story… not anymore…

Because there wasn't a "them" anymore. It had all been split asunder. Culled and cut and reformed to suit the story of the State. A story empty of truth and meaning… just as his life had always been.

He hadn't realized how empty his world had been until it was emptied of Chernobyl once again. The silence in his tiny flat is deafening and grew more cacophonous as the weeks turned into months. Even little Polina with her sweet whiskers and tiny, squeaky mew isn't enough to keep the loneliness at bay. She was once. But only before he knew any better. Before he had even considered that there might be such a thing as "better." Before he'd ever considered risking his reputation and standing for "more."

Before he'd ever dared to _want._

His world is empty now, just as Charkov promised. No friends. No colleagues to speak of. No students or assistants. He occasionally sits a dissertation panel or proctors an exam, but he never does anything of consequence at Kurchatov anymore. Just day after day of being ignored. Of trading the silence of his tiny office for the silence of his tiny apartment. Day after day after unchanging day. 

The days when things do change are actually the worst. When the gray monotony is broken, that's when the jagged pieces of his heart cut and rend. Like when he sees Ulana Khomyuk's name on the roster of speakers at the Institute. He has to hide then, so that he won't risk accidentally running into her, or worse, she might "accidentally" run into him. He even removes his nameplate from the door of his tiny closet of an office, lest she stumble upon it and sneak inside. It's bugged to hell, and he's being followed. There are a dozen ways for Charkov to know he's seen her, and it would end in disaster. A disaster worse than the one that's already befallen him. 

She can't see him. She simply mustn't. She must pretend he isn't there. _He_ must pretend he isn't there. Even just a glimpse across the conference room or lecture hall or an exchanged glance in the hallway would be too much. He knows this. He's a weak man, after all. And she's so thrillingly and beautifully headstrong. The thought of what might happen if he saw her makes him sick. 

But not as sick as the bone deep ache to see her. Or Boris. The idea that they're both in the same city as him sometimes… just mere blocks away. Hell, he could walk to Boris's office any given day of the week. But he… can't. Simply can't. He can't endanger Boris like that. He doesn't even chance to go near the Kremlin. Not ever. Both to avoid temptation and danger alike.

He is a coward after all. He always has been.

Eventually the want keeps him in bed any time he knows Ulana is in town. Better to hide. To feign illness and stay home, which given his condition is both believable and sometimes true. It's safer for all of them. His own punishment he can bear, but the thought that they might lose their places in the world. Their livelihoods. Their lives. Their names…

He sees their names in the paper all the time, especially in the first few months following the trial. He saves the articles. Even though they're full of lies, they're full of memories. He remembers how the truth goes even if it can never be spoken aloud again. 

Charkov had been right about so much. But the newspaper articles confirm that there was one thing he was very wrong about.

He'd said that Valery's actions in Chernobyl would be contributed to lesser men. And reading these articles, he couldn't have been more wrong. Credit went to Boris Shcherbina for the plan to open the sluice gates. To Ulana Khomyuk for the sand and boron sorties and the heat exchanger. To Generals Tarakanov and Pikalov for a whole host of military operations. And the lunar rovers too. Heroes one and all. Greater men by far than Valery had ever been. And now ever would be.

No, Charkov had been wrong about that at least. And Boris had been too, when he'd said that he was inconsequential. No, ultimately the inconsequential one had been Valery. The replaceable one. The disposable one. He'd been right about his place in all this, just as he had always been about pretty much everything to do with Chernobyl in one way or another. 

Just another scientist. Just like any other. Far too stupid for being so smart.

Valery was fine being forgotten by history. He'd never wanted esteem or accolades or greatness of any kind. He'd just wanted security and comfort. Before Chernobyl his life's desire had been just a secure position, a comfortable home, and the company of his little cat, but now… now he just wanted Boris and Ulana. He felt their absence like an abscessed tooth, the decay cutting deeper by the day, and the pain is worsened by his memory's constant prodding at the sore. He missed their voices. Their touch. Just the sound of their feet on threadbare carpet.

Everything reminded him of them. The hot taste of vodka brought him the sight of Boris's smile. The smell of his cigarettes gave him Ulana's mouth pulling a drag off his own smoke, grinning cheekily as she did so. Sunlight reminded him of days in the work camps. Moonlight, the evening walks around abandoned Pripyat. And no succor to be found in any of it now.

It was awful. 

Awful.

Not being forgotten. He could bear to be forgotten, so long as Ulana and Boris didn't forget him and he knew that they wouldn't. 

But he could not bear being alone.

Not anymore.

Not after Chernobyl.

***

**May 10, 1986**

There was a knock on Valery's door almost as soon as he'd turned into his room for the night. He had only stripped out of his jacket and tie to begin getting ready for bed. It had been another abysmally long day. More progress reports from the miners. A few of them had fallen ill from the radiation already but the others soldiered on as if it weren't happening. And today, like every day, Valery had to swallow the urge to tell the miners that there was only a chance that… 

Well, it didn't matter. 

In the grand scheme of things it really didn't matter. They were all equally fucked for staying here. There wasn't much to be done after a certain point, and they were all well beyond that.

He opened the door to reveal Boris's face. He looked haggard as usual, the day's work wearing on him just as much as it did on anyone. Maybe even more perhaps... But conversely to the deep set lines in his face and the heavy shadow of his brow, his eyes were bright and twinkling. And it was this something in his eyes that censured Valery's usual greeting. 

Valery couldn't let how pleased he was to see Boris go unexpressed. Bravely and none-too-slyly, he cut his eyes down the hall both ways before rising on his toes to catch Boris's mouth with his. The kiss was quick. A stolen thing. There had been so many little moments like that. Valery felt like a crow hoarding little shining objects to line the nest of his mind and his heart. Little things… always little things… Boris's hand on his hip. The taste of his mouth. The slickness of his tongue. The sweet flush in his cheeks as Valery pulls away.

Boris did smile then and jerked his chin towards the elevator. Valery followed him into the hall, letting the door slip shut behind him.

"Comrade Khomyuk is back from Moscow." Boris said, keeping his voice down. "I've secured us a workspace in one of the larger suites upstairs, but I haven't told anyone yet, so the KGB won't have bugged it. Not until morning. I've sent her up ahead of us."

Something in Valery jumped at that. A private place. There were so blessed few here, and even less time to take advantage. A chance for…

He gave his head a little shake.

Surely not with Ulana there too. Not with both of them… they don't... It's not…

His mind turned the situation over and over on the elevator ride up. Boris kept cutting him looks as if he could hear the gears grinding in his head. But it didn't matter. He needed to focus. Ulana… Comrade Khomyuk was back, and she would likely be all business. She'd need information. Statistics and figures showing the progression of the situation… it would… they would…

But a private suite… no KGB to listen in…

God, it had been weeks of desperately quiet blowjobs and half-clothed rutting… always with his fist in his mouth or Boris's lips over his to swallow up the sounds he made. To have privacy… to have...

They'd arrived as Valery's mind frantically spun, and Boris pushed the door open. It was one of the dignitary suites, usually reserved for visiting Party officials. It had a grand view of Pripyat, and a long dark wood table along with a scattering of lounge furniture. And there Ulana stood, bag and coat still in hand as she looked out over the city. She turned, giving them both that soft half-smile she always sported when there was no one else to see it.

"Ulya…" Valery heard himself say, his feet faltering when he saw her as color bloomed in his cheeks. He was embarrassed at the instinctive familiarity, but his own was quickly eclipsed by Boris's.

He said nothing. Not "hello" or her name in any iteration. He just crossed the room in a few powerful strides and swept his arms around her comparatively tiny frame. She actually squeaked in surprise, dropping both her bag and coat to catch him, her arms finding their way, with no other choice, inside the shelter of his greatcoat.

"Comrade, I-"

Boris held her fast for a moment before pulling back to look at her. But he didn't let her go. His hands stayed on her shoulders bracing her close to him for his inspection. "They didn't hurt you, did they Ulana?" He asked in a solemn tone that promised a whole world of pain for anyone who dared.

Ulana smiled then, a little flustered and a lot surprised. "No, Boris. I'm alright." She paused and licked her lips. "You saw to that. Thank you for looking in on me."

He stroked his thumbs down the seams on the shoulders of her blouse. "I had a feeling is all. Moscow's a dangerous place."

"So Valery warned me."

"You should listen to him. He's the smartest man in any room."

"That doesn't mean he's smarter than me." Ulana sniped back, an unfamiliarly playful bite in her voice.

They both turned and looked at Valery, who stood stock still in the doorway. They were both fully dressed but he… he'd been getting ready for bed. No coat or suspenders. No tie. And a look on his face of disbelieving warmth and shock.

The two of them… together. Sniping and sparring but… touching each other. Easy. Like this was all normal. Like all the fantasies he didn't know he'd been having until just then. 

"It's good to see you, Ulana." Valery said, giving in and pulling her to him for a hug of his own. It was a more equitable affair than it had been with Boris. His greatcoat had practically swallowed her up. "Seems strange to say that I'm glad you're back, but… I am."

She pulled back glancing between them. "I can only stay for a little while, I'm afraid. I need information that can only be found here, provided the KGB haven't gotten to it first."

"Anything." Boris said with a fierce sort of tenderness, drawing back and pulling out a chair for her. He swept off his coat and jacket, tossing them to a nearby couch as they arranged themselves at the table. "Whatever you need is yours." Then he sat across from her in his own chair leaning into her space in the same way he did for Valery. When he was listening closely… when he might...

Valery's eyes flicked between them and he fought not to frown. What was he seeing?

Ulana gave him an appreciative smile, taking a seat of her own. "I have the… testimony from two of the plant operators. Toptunov and Akimov. I got to speak to them before… it doesn't matter."

"What about the manager? Dyatlov?" Boris asked.

She shook her head. "He won't speak to me. He may be hiding something or he may just be horribly unpleasant, but I cannot guess which. He denies everything Toptunov and Akimov have said and frankly, I don't have enough information to argue with him." she said. "But I'm hoping if I can construct a timeline, I can go back to him and coax more information out of him."

"Or perhaps the others can fill in?" Boris offered.

"They're gone." she forced herself to say. "Dyatlov is the only one left."

Boris gave a sympathetic grunt and sat back, his gray eyes going distant. And after a moment he stood to pace by the window.

"How long does he have?" Valery stepped up beside her to lean on the table, a concerned pinch in his brow. "Did anyone say?"

She lifted a shoulder. "His condition is not as acute as the others. He wasn't wading around in irradiated water or traipsing around outside in the graphite. I expect his life expectancy was shortened significantly given what I saw of his condition, but he's not likely to die any time soon."

"We need him to talk." Boris said resolutely, eyes still facing the window. "What sort of information do you need, Ulana? We'll get you whatever you need."

Her name again, Valery noticed. And she didn’t pull a face.

"There's a computer in the reactor control room." she replied. "It records every button press. Every warning and measurement that passes through the computers. Anything those technicians did that night and each resulting change in the reactor will be recorded there."

Valery rocked back on his heels and raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Let me guess. It's in the damaged reactor building."

Ulana pressed her lips together and stared at her folded hands in her lap. "Yes."

"We'll get you what you need, Ulana." Boris assured her.

"I'm sorry." she said looking down at her folded hands.

"There's no other way?" Valery asked.

She shook her head. "No. Not to find out what actually happened. I only have accounts. Two accounts which do match but-" she lifted a shoulder. "It's hearsay. And Dyatlov will deny it. And no doubt Bryukhanov and Fomin will as well."

"Because they make no sense." Valery finished for her.

"Because they make absolutely no sense." Ulana agreed.

Boris cut his eyes back and forth between his colleagues. "How doesn't it make sense? What did they say?"

Ulana sighed and rose from her chair to pace the length of the table. "I interviewed Toptunov and Akimov separately. They both said that just before the explosion, the power output skyrocketed due to a lack of coolant because of the test and a frankly frightening number of control rods having been removed. Akimov pressed AZ-5 when Toptunov called out the power spike and-"

"That's the shutoff. Halts all reactivity." Valery jumped in seeing the confusion flowering on Boris's face at the unfamiliar term.

"And then it exploded."

"Why is that strange? Perhaps they didn't press it in time?" Boris asked.

"AZ-5 shouldn't have triggered an explosion. There's no way." Ulana said.

Valery swallowed at the tightness in his throat. Again with the button… "Maybe… maybe the mechanism malfunctioned?" He offered.

Ulana lifted one shoulder. "It's possible, but we won't know unless I can look at that data. The logs… the output readings… I need all of it."

"You think they could they be lying?" Boris asked tilting his head as he stared at her.

"Could they be? Of course. Perhaps they're covering for one another, but..." Ulana pressed her lips together. "But they both told the same story. Separately. And… given their condition, and the condition they arrived in? I don't think they conspired. I believe them. What they are saying makes absolutely no sense but… I believe them. I don't know why they would lie."

Valery watched Boris take that in. He was a skeptical man. A hard man. Would he accept her faith in their story?

"Well, Valery will tell you that I'm certainly no expert in reactors," He said, pacing a little closer to her. "But I am an expert in people. If you believe them, then there's only one way to be sure. I'll have General Pikalov send some people in to retrieve those logs for you first thing in the morning."

Ulana nodded. "Thank you, Boris." she said, clearly feeling strange about thanking someone for sending men into harm's way on an errand for her research. Her eyes glazed for a moment and then she shook herself, moving to gather her bag. "I suppose I should head back downstairs."

"You don't have to." Boris said, catching her hand as she turned to go. Valery followed the motion and so did she, and though she looked at Boris strangely, she didn't shy away. "At least… not just yet. This room will be bugged top to bottom tomorrow once they've figured out that I'd like to use it as a work room for the three of us. And Pikalov of course. But…"

"Tonight we can speak freely." Ulana finished for him.

His hand was still wrapped around hers.

Valery gave in and lit a cigarette. This was too much. He wasn't sure what he was watching between them, but he had not consumed enough nicotine to parse it at present.

"You have anything to drink?" Ulana asked, a casual lift in one shoulder.

"The one thing there's no shortage of during any military operation." Boris said standing. "If I’d known you would be back I might’ve found something nicer. Give me a moment." 

Valery drifted to the window, and he felt Ulana follow him like a shadow.

"You seem tense." she said.

"Just tired." he said, staring at his shoes rather than the view.

"That's the opposite of tense, Valery." she replied, side eyeing him fairly hard. 

He didn't respond, instead taking a long, slow drag on his cigarette. But before he could pull it from his lips, her fingers were there, deftly plucking it for an inhale of her own. And she grinned at him devilishly through the curls of smoke.

"Are you teaching our Ulana bad habits, Valery?" Boris chided, joining them with three glasses of vodka balanced between his fingers.

_Our?_

"Hardly." Valery replied, accepting his glass with one hand and his cigarette with the other. Had he really said _our Ulana?_

Ulana let out a little smoke-wreathed laugh as she took the glass Boris proffered to her. "You say that like I didn't get my bad habits the same way he got his."

"Oh? And how's that?" Boris said, smiling rather mischievously at both of them.

She turned to look at Valery, a fond sort of scrutiny sparking in her eyes. She took his chin between her thumb and forefinger, making him look at her before raking her fingers through his feathery red hair. He blushed collar to hairline in an instant, but Ulana pretended she didn't see it.

"Our Valery started drinking early, I bet. First year of university?" She let him drop his eyes then, but stole the cigarette from his lips again. "But he didn't pick up smoking until… graduate dissertation I bet. No wait, you were probably comfortably under deadline. You started smoking when you received your edits before your defense. A nervous habit while you were on a time crunch." She took a rather theatrical puff before returning the smoke to his lips.

_Our Valery._

"Well, is she right?" Boris pressed when Valery did nothing but stand there, shuffling his feet and blushing.

"I started drinking second year of university." Valery said, peeking shyly up at both of them. "But the rest is true."

"And what about you, mm? Ulana?" Boris asked, turning on her.

"Oh, I held off drinking for the most part until I had to start going to social functions as an upperclassman. Learned very quick how to hold my liquor." she replied, polishing off about half the vodka in her glass. "I started smoking almost as soon as I started graduate school."

"But you don't now?" Valery asked, cocking his head to look at her.

"Can't smoke in my lab. I'd set off every sensor in the place. Means I get less work done, so that's why I drink coffee instead."

"I didn't know you drank coffee, Ulana." Boris said, almost as if he were a little appalled at himself.

"There's a great deal you don't know about me, Comrade." She replied the overly polite title curling playfully on her tongue. Almost coquettishly. No… no, not almost...

Holy shit, she was flirting with him. Valery thought he might faint.

That got her a smile from Boris. A real one. The one that bared his teeth and hid his eyes. 

"Have you no vices, Comrade?" Ulana asked, crunching on the propriety of the title. "Besides vodka, I mean."

"My sweet tooth is my vice." Boris replied. "Vices are things you enjoy. Vodka is a crutch."

She polished off her drink and stalked across the room for a refill. "You do have a taste for sweet things, so I'm given to understand." She tossed the comment casually over her shoulder as she went.

Now Valery thought he really might faint. At that, he actually swooned into Boris who caught him with a steadying hand.

"Guilty as charged, I suppose." Boris said, mostly to himself. Mostly into the space he and Valery now shared.

Valery stared up at him, face flushed red and eyes wide and uncertain. Boris cupped his cheek, searching his face cautiously. And then, ever so gently he brushed a kiss across his heated forehead. Valery felt himself go weak at that, listing closer to Boris's sturdy frame. He felt he should be mortified that Ulana might see… but she'd already seen. She'd already seen something far more scandalizing than a simple kiss on the forehead. And she wasn't even looking anyway.

But something in him wanted her to look. He wanted her to see him like this. See Boris like this. Because they'd talked about it, and…

And…

She had turned around at some point and stood at a distance observing them. Watching with soft eyes as the two of them swayed together, Valery visibly chasing Boris's touch. 

"You two look cozy." she said, not a shred of judgement in either her voice or her eyes. She looked fond in fact. Almost… approving. But a little sad with one arm hugged around her waist. A little bereft. A little bit… wanting? Or was he imagining it?

Boris smiled at her, neatly mirroring her curious expression, but Valery pressed his face against Boris's shirt front as a fresh blush began to lick its way up his cheeks.

"Shall I finish this and leave you two to it?" She held up her little glass, the liquid within swaying precariously near the rim. Her tone had taken a serious edge. No less warm. No less kind. But weighty and even. No hard feelings. No foul if they wanted her to leave. She made it clear in her tone that she would just-

"No." Valery's voice was muffled, but his intent was clear. Not just no… but…

_No, don't leave. Come here._

He hadn't actually spoken the words, but she'd heard him loud and clear. She let herself hang in that moment. Let herself feel the distance between them all one last time. Let herself decide… before she polished off her drink with a single gulp and followed the unspoken instruction, catching Valery's hand and twining their fingers together as she approached. He made room for her in their space, but she didn't quite step between them. Not yet. There was one small matter to attend to first before jumping in with both feet.

With a fiery bit of something like defiance in her eyes, she looked up at Boris. Up and up and up, having to crane her head back to meet his slate gray eyes. Even in her modest heels he towered over both of them. He pivoted towards her as well, widening the gap and dropping his hand to catch her free one. Fingers tangled, testing and twisting before she slipped her hand up his forearm and along his stout waist, feeling him spread one powerful hand over her back in turn. And raising on tiptoe, she cocked her head in invitation.

_Are we doing this?_ her sea-green eyes asked. And as if in response, Boris leaned down to her so even at his great height, she could meet him halfway.__

_ _Valery watched with breath caught as Boris kissed her. Carefully… almost testingly at first. Gently. A little taste before committing to a whole bite. As if the taste of her might be bitter. Or she might be poisonous. Or as if she might bite back. But when she parted her lips for him he started drinking her in, and Valery watched hungrily as his tongue slipped past the guard of her teeth to lick at the inside of her mouth._ _

_ _Valery just watched. What else could he do but watch utterly dumbstruck and lean on Boris as all the blood in his brain suddenly and almost violently drained downward. He felt sharply as if he was the one who should leave. Should he give them a "first time" as he'd had one with each of them? But he didn't _want_ to. He wanted to stay… even if it was just to watch. He could watch... Even that thought thrilled him. The thought of the two of them together pulled at him. Like gravity. Like magnetism. Like something stronger than all of those. _ _

_ _He was grateful for Boris's hand on his back, steadying him and keeping him close. Keeping him from creeping off back to his room where he'd have only his hand for company. When the two of them broke apart, Valery felt the urge to run. To bolt for the door because he'd been caught watching. They were looking at him, Ulana with her cheek leaned against Boris's shirt front across from his. And he could feel the weight of Boris's gaze coming down from above. They had seen him. Seen how he looked at them… he was probably a shamefully needy sight, but they didn't seem to care._ _

_ _Boris brushed another kiss across Valery's forehead and that was it. Valery couldn't fight their gravity any longer. He let the larger man pull him closer so that his face slid across the smooth cotton of Boris's shirt until his nose bumped Ulana's. They nuzzled there a moment, breath mingling and smiles flowering before she caught his lips with her own. He moaned into her mouth half in surprise and half in elation, and they both felt Boris's hands tighten around their waists. _ _

_ _"Come to bed, both of you." he said, softly kissing each of them on the part of their hair, almost like a doting father. But the slide of his hands across the small of each of their backs left no doubt as to his intentions as he pulled them towards the suite bedroom._ _

_ _"Are you sure you want me to come with you?" Ulana said even as she followed his direction._ _

_ _They stopped moving. Or rather Boris stopped moving them. "Yes." he said simply. "I do want you to come with us. Unless it's your wish to not join us. Or…"_ _

_ _"Or what, Boris?" Valery pressed looking up at him strangely when he paused._ _

_ _"Or you'd rather not have me tag along. I can be the one to-"_ _

_ _"Oh for God's sakes." Valery practically spit, his own exasperation surprising him. "I'm tired of this. Come to bed, both of you."_ _

_ _Boris and Ulana exchanged looks of pleased and pleasant shock as they found themselves now being pulled along by an insistent Valery Legasov._ _

_ _The bed was on the small side for three adults, especially when one of those adults was all six feet of Boris Shcherbina. They covered the bed with moving limbs as they adjusted and jostled themselves into position, eventually coming to rest with Valery on his back, sandwiched between Ulana and Boris. For a moment after they'd settled Valery just stared up at the ceiling, breath coming in short, nigh fruitless pants. Ulana and Boris just watched, and kept touching him since he was holding them so close._ _

_ _Finally, he did look at them, at each of his companions in turn, eyes shot wide as if he were surprised they hadn't vanished. As if he thought he might be dreaming._ _

_ _"Are you alright, Valery?" Ulana asked, cupping his cheek._ _

_ _A dry-mouthed nod was all he could muster._ _

_ _Boris smoothed one hand up his shirtfront, fingers slipping past the buttons to stroke his chest through his undershirt. "What do you want, Valera? What can we give you?"_ _

_ _What did he want? _What did he want?_ It was the eternal question whenever he was alone with either of them, and with each passing night spent in their company the edges of his wants had grown sharper in his mind. Honed and brightened with the sheer idea that he was allowed to want. That he was allowed to want _them._ But it wasn't the fear of his own wanting that held his tongue in a vice, he realized. No… it was that he could want with an expectation of being satisfied. He need never fear that they would hold back or deny him anything that he asked._ _

_ _He need only ask._ _

_ _He trembled at that. Would tremble at it always._ _

_ _And so he said the only thing that made sense._ _

_ __"Everything."_ he whispered, the word sluggish in his mouth as he stared up at them._ _

_ _Ulana and Boris exchanged smiles at that across his still heaving chest. Their hands knit together over his heart as Ulana propped her chin on Valery's chest to watch Boris kiss him silly. _God, he really was gentle with him,_ she thought, thumbing his thick knuckles where their hands still lay joined._ _

_ _"It's a tall order, but I suppose we can get started on that at least." Boris teased him between presses of his lips against Valery's convulsing throat. "Help me get him undressed, Ulana."_ _

_ _They made quick work of Valery's clothes, choosing instead to drape him with their own bodies. They took turns with kisses. Took turns kissing each other too. But they shared the task of teasing Valery's dusky nipples to peaks. They licked and sucked until his cock stood up ramrod straight and he begged them to stop._ _

_ _"It's not fair." he whined somewhat incoherently. "Your clothes…" he twisted his fingers in the fabric that still covered them. _ _

_ _"Alright." Ulana placated, kissing his chest again. "Alright. Boris will you help me a moment?"_ _

_ _She stood from the bed, her absence making Valery shiver and draw closer to Boris. She walked over to Boris's side of the bed and smartly turned her back to him. "The zipper if you'd be so kind."_ _

_ _Boris sat up slowly, as if moving through a dream. "Yes, of course." he said rather dully. His fingers found the little metal tab and drew it downwards, paring back the polyester of her dress and revealing the creamy skin beneath. He slipped his fingers inside for a moment, petting one bent knuckle along the soft curve of her ribs and earning himself a rather shockingly coquettish smile over her shoulder. Still staring up at her, he pushed the dress off her shoulders, and she let him. The dress fell to the floor and there stood Ulana Khomyuk before him in her underwear, still gazing at him somewhat expectantly._ _

_ _Boris took his time laying a trail of open-mouthed kisses up the knobs of her spine before he turned her to face him, pulling her to him until she stood between his knees. His hands skated up her flanks and his eyes shamelessly followed. _ _

_ _"May I help you with the rest of it?" He asked, pupils swelling in the dark._ _

_ _"Only if you'd like to fuck me."_ _

_ _"Well," Boris said, giving an embarrassed cough and covered it with a smile. "I suppose I wouldn't know if I'd like to. Valery has been quite tight lipped about you."_ _

_ _"Really?" she said. "Because he's told me a great deal about you."_ _

_ _"What?" Boris wheeled around to find Valery with a rather glazed but satisfied smile on his face, slowly but quite brazenly fondling the length of his erection. He lifted one shoulder in a mockingly innocent shrug that made Boris want to bowl him over and kiss him senseless._ _

_ _"It's true." She went on, catching the wake of Valery's gleeful smile which peeked up at her over the top of Boris's shoulder. "He says you're quite the sweet kitten in bed."_ _

_ _"Kitten?" He rounded back on her, eyebrows arched in surprise._ _

_ _"He might not have used those words exactly." Ulana admitted, a devilish curl on her lip. "But he did say you were sweet. And gentle. Are you going to prove him wrong or right?"_ _

_ _Boris's eyes flickered back and forth between them as he clearly weighed his options. Weighed throwing her down and having his way with her, just to prove a point. But he saw the soft look in Valery's eyes. Remembered how he'd come apart underneath him when he'd answered his wanting with careful, gentle caresses. _ _

_ _And so Boris proved him right. After a fashion, anyway. He pulled Ulana onto his lap, fumbling for the clasp of her bra and ridding her of it after a few false starts. He cupped her breasts and pushed a hand into her hair and kissed and kissed until she was writhing against him._ _

_ _"I'll be gentle." He said, the words rough and humid against her throat. "I'm going to lick you out until you scream for mercy. And then our Valera is going to fuck you. Seeing as he's more skilled with you than I."_ _

_ _ _Our Valera._ _ _

_ _"Not that much more skilled. I've only had her twice." he felt himself wink, infected by Ulana's flirtations._ _

_ _"You've only fucked her twice? Valera!" Boris said, staring up at her clearly shocked. "Then by all means, you should definitely be the one to do it."_ _

_ _"But you haven't at all… unless… I mean…"_ _

_ _"You can't tell me you don't want to." Boris argued._ _

_ _"Do I get a say in this?" Ulana asked playfully, saddling her forearms over Boris's shoulders._ _

_ _"Do you have a preference?" Valery asked, eyebrows migrating to his hairline._ _

_ _She shrugged. "Not really. I was just curious."_ _

_ _"I want to watch him fuck you, Ulana." Boris's voice roughened significantly on that as he drew his hands down her back to cup her ass. _ _

_ _"And just what will you be doing? Mm?"_ _

_ _"Oh I'm certain I'll find a way to entertain myself."_ _

_ _"Don't do too good a job, Borja." she said, watching the choice of name melt all the teasing ice from his eyes. "You may not be curious about me, but I'm curious about you."_ _

_ _The words lit like a struck match in his eyes, and Ulana actually felt herself gasp a little. Boris suddenly seemed rapt… shockingly attentive and assertive. "I'd best get you undressed for him then. It sounds like you're in for a long night."_ _

_ _Her mouth had gone dry at the attention from him. That look in his eyes, she felt it flush her face and weigh in her stomach like something molten and alive. His large hands made quick work of her underwear and he spilled her across the bed between them. But rather than simply handing her over to Valery, he stopped her with a hand on her hip and one knee coming to rest between her thighs. _ _

_ _Once he'd garnered her attention, he began rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. It was then that it dawned on Ulana that he was still more or less fully dressed. No tie. No jacket. But still in his white shirt, so crisp that it whispered invitingly with every movement. Still in his pants and belt too. Kneeling over both of them, fully clothed as they puddled together naked beneath him._ _

_ _Something in Ulana wanted to be rankled at it. She didn't like power imbalances to be lorded over her, and there certainly was one here. A member of the Party's inner circle… and two scientists. But… Valery was next to her, staring up as well. And it was Boris._ _

_ __Their_ Boris. _ _

_ _She felt her frame melt back into the pillows, her shoulder touching Valery's chest where he'd pooled himself along her side to watch. This was… easy. It had all happened so easily. Wants voiced and chased and answered. Easy..._ _

_ _Ulana thought Boris was going to use his hands, but she couldn't have been more wrong. He swept his powerful arms up beneath her legs, dragging her hips towards his open mouth and without announcement or even a teasing comment he slipped his clever tongue up into her pussy. She bucked in his grip, or tried to. Her legs were held fast over his broad shoulders. Boris moaned against her slick flesh when he felt her reaction, and she answered it in kind._ _

_ _A small whimper escaped Valery too. He wasn't touching himself. Just watching with eyes shot wide with awe and want. Ulana tipped his face up to hers, wanting to say something but all that escaped her was a shuddering breath as Boris's tongue found her clit. Against her will, her eyes slipped closed and her mouth dropped open to frame a breathy little sound as the warmth of Boris's mouth began to spread upward like oil spreading across the surface of water._ _

_ _Valery filled his hands with her breasts as he drew her in for a kiss. Everywhere they touched her felt like a burning brand in the cool stillness of the room. Their mouths. Their hands. The press of Valery's lightly furred chest against her ribs. It was not often in her life she'd ever felt overcome, and even rarer that she felt such and also felt completely safe. Safe to lose herself to this. Safe to let it infect her mind and burn through her inhibitions like acid. _ _

_ _She kissed Valery, making the same sweet rocking motions with her own tongue that Boris was applying between her legs. She dug her hands into the silky strands of Valery's hair to crush their mouths together. She arched and wriggled against Boris's hands and moaned into Valery's parted lips. But eventually they pulled apart, their desire for closeness overridden by wanting to watch Boris laboring between Ulana's parted thighs._ _

_ _His firm and nearly insistent gentleness shocked her. Nothing else about him was. He was an imposing man made even more imposing by the clothing he chose and the way he let his frame carry him. Standing out on the work yard or in the conference room, it was as if someone had poured concrete into a suit. But here, on all fours between her legs, he was as sweet as a kitten, truly. Sweet and gentle… and generous as he lapped endlessly at the pouting slit of Ulana's pussy and sucked relentlessly on the stiff little nub of her clit. He read her every reaction without error, hearing the timbre of her whining change, and feeling her muscles twitch where he had hold of her._ _

_ _Ulana slipped one hand down to run her fingers through his thick silver hair and that garnered his attention. He stared up at them, tongue still working but eyes blazing as they gazed down at him. It was a frighteningly beautiful sight. _ _

_ _Boris moaned against her as if the sight of both of them together had infected him somehow. His Valera and now his Ulya. Valera's head on her shoulder and her hand in his coppery hair. They were beautiful. Like a picture of heaven from some Western cathedral wall. He redoubled his pace, clever tongue delving as deep inside as he could reach. Ulana felt the tingling warmth that had been gathering in her core ignite. She choked on a moan, teeth clicking together as she kept it back._ _

_ _"Let him hear you." Valery said, cupping her cheek and drawing her eyes to him. "There's no one else to. Just us."_ _

_ _ _Just them._ _ _

_ _ _Just them..._ _ _

_ _Once when Ulana was a girl she saw lightning strike a tree. A streak of blinding white that splintered the top third of the branches and blasted all the bark away from the trunk cleanly and completely revealing the snow white wood underneath._ _

_ _That was how her orgasm felt at the hands, or rather at the mouth of Boris Shcherbina. She hadn't realized how tightly he had wound her until suddenly she was flying blissfully apart. The world seemed to fall away from her as a thick, cottony haze filled her head. Sight was gone and hearing too. Nothing remained but the pounding of her heart and arcing rush of pleasure wicking out from her core, seeming to fling her mind into pieces. _ _

_ _But she didn't fly far. Four hands had her. Had her by the hips, and the shoulders, and eventually by the face. They kept her with them, all the little pieces jealously cradled until her vision returned and her breathing calmed. When she opened her eyes, or perhaps just when her vision cleared, both men were staring down at her._ _

_ _With trembling hands, she caressed both their faces, her thumbs sliding over their cheekbones and noting the difference in the texture of their skin. Of their hair as her fingers slipped back to grip the napes of their necks. And she forced herself to breathe. Just breathe. The air smelled of cigarettes and of leather… she could drown in it. Drown and be happy. So she did._ _

_ _And finally, when her lungs were working and her heart had slowed down, "Who wants to go first?" She said, that flirty smile flickering across her mouth again, softened somewhat by the lingering haze of her climax._ _

_ _Boris swiped a thumb across his slick lower lip and sucked the digit into his mouth before replying, "I was getting her ready for you, Valera. Go on."_ _

_ _Valery didn't need to be told twice, and frankly neither did Ulana. She levered herself up on the mattress and swung one leg across Valery's hips. His erection jutted up proudly, clear liquid drooling copiously down the shaft as she gave him a few perfunctory pumps of her fist. He was hard, and she could feel his pulse kicking against her hand. And even though she was still quivering with the aftershocks of the frankly impressive orgasm Boris had gifted her with, she was eager to feel his heartbeat in her depths._ _

_ _With a cant of her hips and a flex of her thighs, she slipped the head of his cock into the slick folds of her pussy. His hands tightened on her as his eyes cinched closed and when she let him sink home, he throbbed within her. And moaned. He moaned so sweetly Ulana felt she could taste it on the air. Crunch the sound like spun sugar in her back teeth._ _

_ _He was so sweet like this..._ _

_ _Ulana was dimly aware that Boris had collapsed on the pillows beside them, pillowing his head on one folded arm as he trailed his hands through Valery's chest hair. His eyes were watching Ulana however. Watching as she swiveled her hips against Valery's, stretching and fucking herself on his cock as he whimpered beneath her._ _

_ _"I love seeing you like this, Valera." Boris whispered, drawing his eyes at last to meet his. "I wish you could see how you blush. How your lips part so invitingly." He kissed him then, almost chastely. Just a gentle lingering of lips._ _

_ _"Happy to be of service to you then, Boris." Ulana said dryly, some of her wits coming back to her as the last dregs of her climax ebbed away to be replaced by new waves of intoxicating pleasure._ _

_ _Boris cut his eyes up to her. "Are you always so mouthy?"_ _

_ _She let her tongue sneak out to skirt her bottom lip. "It's not the only way I can be mouthy." She cut back._ _

_ _Boris's pupils swelled a little at that. "Has she ever…" he turned to Valery._ _

_ _But Valery shook his head. "We… haven't gotten to that. Haven't…" Ulana cruelly chose that moment to set up a rather powerful rhythm for herself. Galloping thrusts, steady and even, that stole the air from Valery's lungs. "Haven't… had… the chance… oh… Ulya..."_ _

_ _"I can see why." Boris said before cutting her a meaningful look. "Though I'd find it hard to resist… if she were offering."_ _

_ _"You still have your clothes on so- AH!" Her breath escaped her all at once as Valery sat up, cupping her ass and driving her down onto his length at a sharper angle. "I don't see how I could."_ _

_ _Boris stole a kiss from her as Valery ground Ulana down onto his cock, making her moan and squirm in his arms. Then he stood from the bed and began to undress. If she'd been a tease, he was an absolute torturer. He unrolled his sleeves one at a time, and then went for his buttons. One by one they came undone by careful, patient hands before finally the shirt parted and fell to the floor along with her dress._ _

_ _Valery was watching him too, his cheek pressed against Ulana's as they pistoned together. "He comes apart in my mouth so easily. You'd best be careful."_ _

_ _"Easy is he?" her teasing tone was undercut somewhat by how breathy and sexed up she sounded. But who could blame her? One lover was tantalizingly undressing for her, and the other was buried to the hilt inside her until she could feel every throb of his pulse against her inner walls._ _

_ _"So easy, Ulya." Valery said, turning her head back to him. "You… you want to see his face when he comes. It's a thing of beauty."_ _

_ _"That's enough out of both of you." Boris chided, fumbling now with his belt. It was difficult to tell in the dim light, but Ulana was fairly certain she could see a blush coming in under his cheeks._ _

_ _"Keep talking, Valera." Ulana encouraged, finding her devilish smile matched by Valery._ _

_ _"I love the way it feels when he comes inside me." he went on. "How are you going to let him do it, Ulya?"_ _

_ _"What does he like?"_ _

_ _"I can hear you both, you know?" Boris grumbled, pants hitting the floor now._ _

_ _"How does he like you, Valera?" She purred, grinding down on him with tight, showy little rocks of her hips. She kept her eyes on Boris, now in nothing but his underwear and thin white undershirt, neither of which did much to conceal his obvious arousal. But he looked almost angry at it… arrogant and proud against the tide of desire that sought to overwhelm him._ _

_ _Ulana had mercy then, reaching out one hand to him as Valery, face buried against her throat and in the fall of her dark hair, began to confess._ _

_ _"He loves it when I'm on my back. I love it too. You'll love it, Ulana…" he was saying, the words barely recognizable veiled as they were in needy kisses. "He holds me like… God, he makes me weak."_ _

_ _Boris had sunk down onto his knees on the mattress beside them, Ulana's hand drawing him closer and closer until their mouths met. Valery was still going on as he thrust up into the soft clutch of Ulana's pussy. Something about Boris spreading him open and holding him so that all he could do was just take his cock, but his voice had become just a part of the heady symphony of desire building on that tiny bed. Ulana was kissing Boris as her hand found his cock through his underwear. And when she squeezed his impressive length, suddenly his kisses grew teeth. He sucked and bit at her lips as if he might devour her from the mouth down, and his hips stuttered forward, chasing the tightness of her grip as he leaked copiously in his underwear._ _

_ _Boris groaned when Ulana's hand sneaked lower to squeeze his tight, heavy balls and that garnered Valery's attention. He threaded his hand into Boris's hair dragging him over for a sloppy kiss of his own. And at the sight of them kissing each other, Ulana had to give in and touch herself. She slipped her hand down to grind against her clit, not realizing she'd also feel how tightly Valery fit inside her._ _

_ _Oh it was all she needed. Just that little spark. The sight of Valery and Boris trying to kiss each other senseless. The weight of Boris in her hand. The insistent thrusting of Valery deep inside her. Pleasure started welling up and she was powerless to stop it. She rode down on Valery's hips chasing the catch in the waves of her pleasure until she was careening along and being dragged under the tide of ecstasy._ _

_ _Valery made a choked sound against Boris's mouth, pulling back as his own orgasm was milked out of him. Boris watched it all with jaw slack and eyes focused on both of them. He watched them find their pleasure together… together but with him. Her hand was still around his cock and Valery's was still in his hair. Valery was panting harshly against his throat as he emptied himself into Ulana's pussy which still convulsed around his length as aftershocks took her._ _

_ _Boris's eyes went dark and impossibly soft. He leaned on both of them, his whole frame gone weak as if he'd been the one to have the orgasm, but he was still thick and hard in Ulana's grip. Valery fell back onto his elbows leaving Boris to lean fully on Ulana._ _

_ _He brought her teasing fingers up to his mouth, licking her taste from them with abandon. _ _

_ _"How do you want me, Borja?" she said, her words slurring more than a little, pleasure drunk as she was._ _

_ _He didn't answer. He bowled her over onto her back next to Valery, who'd fully collapsed against the pillows by then. Boris was between her knees again, and suddenly had two fingers buried completely inside of her. They made a sloppy sound when he withdrew them, and she keened with oversensitivity. Her hips still followed him nonetheless, bucking and grinding and chasing the wonderful sensation of fullness. Everything in her still wanted… he was hard and she could smell his arousal even through the haze of sex and sweat they were all already covered in._ _

_ _"Look what a mess you’ve made of our Ulana." Boris teased Valery, withdrawing his fingers and sucking them clean._ _

_ __Fuck._ Ulana thought. These two were going to be the death of her. Fuck radiation. Fuck cancer and all the rest. This was going to be how she was going to go. These two wonderfully infuriating and incensing men were going to be what finally got her._ _

_ _But there was something else… something else he had said..._ _

_ _ _Our Ulana._ _ _

_ _And just like that, it was sealed. These things came in threes after all, or so stories of old would say. Three Fates. The Trinity. _ _

_ _And them..._ _

_ _They were theirs. Each other’s. In a way nothing else could make them. Not kisses. Not sex. Not even the crucible of Chernobyl. They were each other’s because they’d said so, and there would be no power on Earth that could disentangle them so easily._ _

_ _"Fuck me, Boris." She urged as they all exchanged heady glances. They'd all heard it. They'd all felt it. Time to forge the truth of it. It was their turn at last._ _

_ _He didn't need any more encouragement. Boris clawed off his underwear with Ulana's help and, still in his undershirt, he pushed into her. She nearly folded in half as his hips split her legs apart. As sensitive as she was, he was a nearly painful stretch, thicker than Valery but just as smooth. Just as silky._ _

_ _He fit just as perfectly._ _

_ _And she was so wet from two orgasms and all of Valery's come that he felt velvet soft even as he rutted into her relentlessly._ _

_ _"Ulya…" He groaned aloud, burying his face in her hair. "Ulya… oh God…" He was pistoning into her, so hard she could almost feel it in her teeth. He clutched at her so tightly that his fingers dug into her flesh until the skin turned white. She wondered distantly if she would have bruises. And even more distantly she wondered if she really cared. He could leave marks on her…_ _

_ _In fact…_ _

_ _Ulana licked up the side of his neck until she could catch his earlobe between her teeth. His spine bowed like a cat's as he half shouted in surprise at the sensation. It might've been her name but she couldn't be sure._ _

_ _"Valera did say you like teeth. I wasn't sure if that meant giving or receiving." Ulana teased as best as she was able. His rhythmic thrusts were still rattling her teeth and nearly knocking the breath out of her._ _

_ _Boris's lip curled briefly before he bent over her breast and sucked the nipple into his mouth. For a second it was only warmth and suction but then she felt the answering scrape of teeth that stayed just on the far side of painful. She arched towards him and he speared into her again, deep and hard sending her grinding down onto his substantial length._ _

_ _"Borja… Borja please…" she half wailed going completely boneless under him. Her nerves were all overloaded by that point. Nothing to do but let him use her… let him have her..._ _

_ _"Tell me what she needs, Valera." Boris rasped, still working himself inside her. She was so slick and hot, but her muscles gripped up around him maddeningly tight. He couldn't think. Could barely breathe. All he wanted was more of her…_ _

_ _Valery was there, rolled onto his side and sliding a hand down between them. His fingers found her clit and started massaging, making Ulana whine high in her throat. Her vision cleared a little and she focused on Valery's face. He leaned in, stealing a brief kiss from her as she panted for breath._ _

_ _Ulana's head felt like it was full of wool… hot and fuzzy and it felt impossible to think or see through. Her whole body felt heavy, and Boris pressed down on her further. She could feel his hips stuttering. Feel him starting to lose control._ _

_ _"Ulya… Ulya, I'm…" His fingers dug in tighter. There would definitely bruises. But he was holding back… keeping himself from the edge. _ _

_ _"Inside me. Do it." she said through gritted teeth, feeling her pulse rising in her ears. Her skin felt hot… too tight across her bones. She was close and with Valery's fingers winding her up tighter and tighter, she was certain she was going to come so hard she would go blind._ _

_ _Something like relief passed across Boris's heavy features. His thrusting grew smoother, more rolling and undulating. "Ulya…" he moaned, her name coming out like a prayer this time. And then, on a whisper "Valera… mine… mine…" _ _

_ _"Yes…" Ulana let the word hiss out from between her teeth. "Yes… yours, Borja… yours…" _ _

_ _It was as if breathing the words lit a fuse within her. The tingling pressure building down low in her core exploded outward and upward, incinerating everything… her sight and her thoughts. All that was left was the soft sound of the two men panting next to her and over her. Their warmth surrounded her and supported her. Kept her from dissolving straight through the mattress as her blood fizzed with the pleasure and desire they were sharing._ _

_ _Boris roared, red faced as he was swept up in the wake of her orgasm. He thrust and thrust, bucking against her, pressing his open mouth and his teeth to her skin. He came and he came, pumping his thick load into her and adding to the wonderfully sticky mess Valery had left inside her._ _

_ _For a handful of breaths they just hung there, aftershocks making them shudder and shake. Valery had watched it all. He was holding both of them as they found their pleasure together. God if he were only a younger man, this would be a very long night indeed._ _

_ _He kissed them both in turn, tasting the trembling weakness on their lips and drinking it in like wine. "I'll be back in a moment." he whispered, rising and fetching a towel for each of them from the bathroom._ _

_ _Boris rolled off of her when he was gone, and they cautiously locked eyes in the dim light. They just looked for a moment, almost willing themselves to believe where they were and what they had just done before finally Ulana reached over, her fingers finding Boris's and tangling together with them against his chest._ _

_ _"Did I hurt you?" Boris rasped._ _

_ _"No, Borja."_ _

_ _"I was rough with you."_ _

_ _"Not too rough."_ _

_ _"Ulya…" He rolled towards her, cupping her chin. "I…"_ _

_ _She pulled his hand to her and kissed his palm. "I would have told you to stop if I needed you to. And I know you would have."_ _

_ _He nodded, eyes still a little vague and foggy._ _

_ _"Valery said you were gentle." She said, the words tickling out over his hand as she kissed his palm again. _ _

_ _"I wasn't then."_ _

_ _"Maybe I didn't want you to be."_ _

_ _Boris drew her face up to his and kissed her parting her lips with the tip of his tongue. "You'll tell me if-"_ _

_ _"Remember who you're talking to, Borja." Ulana sniped, gently nibbling his bottom lip for emphasis._ _

_ _Valery had returned by then, towels in hand. They each cleaned up, tossing the soiled cloths to the floor, and then Valery crawled onto the bed again, wedging himself between them where the night had begun for him._ _

_ _For a long while they just lay there with only the sound of their breathing to move the air. They traded touches and kisses. All of it syrup-slow and full of wonder. But Boris spoke up as eyes started to droop and limbs grew heavy where they draped and tangled together._ _

_ _"We can't sleep here." he said gently._ _

_ _"I know." Valery replied. "Just… a few minutes more?" He looked up at his partners with sad, wide eyes. Boris knew without so much as a word that Valery had just imagined the inside of his room… realized how tiny and empty it seemed now. And he didn't want to go back. Not yet. He didn't want to go back to that stale, dusty room, wash the smell of his lovers off of himself, and crawl into that cold bed. Not yet…_ _

_ _Neither did he. And he couldn't speak for Ulana, but she certainly looked content where she was as she kissed a lazy trail up Valery's chest._ _

_ _Boris pulled his arms tighter around both of them, curling Valery against him and smiling sweetly at Ulana over Valery's shoulder. "Alright." He murmured, laying a kiss against Valery's temple. "Just a few minutes more."_ _

_ _Ulana smiled back at him, taking her turn to kiss the nape of his neck before draping herself along his freckled shoulders and closing her eyes. "Thank you, Borja."_ _

_ _Somehow he knew she wasn't just thanking him for the sex. But for her rescue. For this fleeting sanctuary. For giving them everything they ever needed._ _

_ _Including each other..._ _

_ _Valery inhaled with his nose pressed to the hollow of Boris's throat, pulling the moment down into his lungs like incense. He would remember this and treasure this night on all the ones he would invariably and inevitably spend alone. It would be enough. It had to be. Because that would be the way of it. They couldn't have this always. The world wouldn't let them._ _

_ _But he could have these two people for now. For just a few more minutes... a handful of stolen moments that glittered like stars in the dark places in his heart. He would cherish them always and banish whatever darkness befell them with their unassailable light._ _

_ _***_ _

_ _ **March 7, 1988** _ _

_ _Valery has been coughing all day, but it's not all that alarming. It's so cold and wet this time of year, and he doesn't smoke any less than he ever did. Still, usually the congestion yields something, but all day it's just been more and more of his dry rattling lungs trying desperately to dislodge whatever it is that's irritating them._ _

_ _Until finally that evening he looks down at his handkerchief. _ _

_ __Blood._ _ _

_ _A fine spray of bright red mixed with phlegm and spit. It's faint, but it's also unmistakable._ _

_ _The world grows impossibly still for a handful of heartbeats, and Valery feels quite suddenly as if he's viewing the moment from far far away. Perhaps from the past looking forward… from when he'd carelessly told Boris of their fate that day in the hotel room, or from that bench outside the courtroom when Boris had shown him his own bloodstained handkerchief. Or maybe he's been propelled forward and joined himself in whatever afterlife awaits men who knowingly and willingly perpetuate lies. His punishment is to relive this moment again and again… The moment when he realized how inevitable it all had been._ _

_ _Whatever the case, he suddenly understands what Boris had meant when he told him that when enough time had passed, he'd sort of… forgotten or dismissed rather than believed Valery's warning. In some ways he'd done the same, feeling as if the bland sameness of his new life would go on in perpetuity. Its own brand of merciless hell._ _

_ _And yet… here he is. Coughing up blood. _ _

_ _Alone._ _

_ _They'd given Boris a year last July. And he'd been coughing up much more blood that Valery was right now. Was he even still alive? Was Ulana? Until now, he'd not really thought about the possibility that they could die and he would never know. That he wouldn't even know where they were buried, not that he could visit their graves anyway. He wasn't allowed to leave Moscow._ _

_ _As the weeks had turned to months, he had been trying to keep them from his mind as much as possible, he realizes. At least in terms of specifics. He remembers them as they were. As he'd met them. Perhaps not the best circumstances. Far from the best of all possible worlds, but it was their best of times… when they had been his and he theirs. When the three of them had belonged to each other in Chernobyl. Belonged to that place and to their duty to the State… but most of all to each other. _ _

_ _Some ties were never meant to be broken._ _

_ _That's how he felt now. Broken. He'd been split open like the reactor itself and never sewn back together. Merely doused, buried, and forgotten. Without Boris and without Ulana he felt naked. Flayed apart and left as carrion for the birds. He was useless without them. Damn whatever the State had tried to do to him otherwise. He could live without the titles and the prestige and the accolades. All he wanted was them now. And nevermind all the sex… sure he missed that but it wasn't the only thing. He missed the shared drinks and the walks and all of it. Even when it had just been the work of Chernobyl, he had never felt more alive or more capable than in their company. _ _

_ _The misery of it all crashed over him in a freezing wave. He must've made a sound, or perhaps his coughing had been particularly fitful, because Polina came to pad around his feet mewling and arching to rub against his shins. He dropped one hand listlessly to let her more or less pet herself as he vainly fought to catch his breath. The grief clutched at his lungs… and now this awful coughing too..._ _

_ _But it wasn't the threat of dying that was smothering him like a blanket of lead. It was the loneliness. They were so far away and he ached for them. His Ulana. His Boris. They could already be gone and he would never know. He would never ever know..._ _

_ _Would they even know of his passing? Would word be carried to them somehow? Surely not. The KGB were a great many terrifying things, but they were neither sentimental nor ironic. No, the three of them would go on in this strange non-life. No closure. No comfort. Until they all finally succumbed to Chernobyl's pervasive poison._ _

_ _And they would succumb alone._ _

_ _Valery couldn't do it._ _

_ _He simply couldn't. _ _

_ _The misery might have been frigid, but the certainty that he could not go on like this was scalding. Fevered even. He felt his face go hot, like something akin to rage. Hatred even. Hatred of himself. Of his apartment… Even strangely of little Polina as she sat at his feet, content now to bathe herself when his petting had proved disinteresting. _ _

_ _He couldn't do this… this slow descent into the grave. Not alone. Not now. Maybe he could have gone on alone with some grace before Chernobyl, but not now. Not with this much indignity. It would be slow. It would be painful. It would be… distasteful. And ugly._ _

_ _And he would be alone._ _

_ _He could hear Charkov's smug chuckle. It rang like the fall of a gavel in his ears._ _

_ _No. He would deny the KGB the satisfaction, he decided. Deny them their torture._ _

_ _He would end this on his own terms, and he would do it now. While he had the white-hot nerve. _ _

_ _He was a coward after all._ _

_ _He went to his bathroom, a tiny space barely large enough to turn around in. He'd had closets bigger in his old apartment. He dug through the cabinets..._ _

_ _And he found his straight razor._ _

_ _Yes, this would be quicker at least than the cancer. Kinder too. A little pain and then a slipping darkness. Nothing compared to the agony of tumors displacing organs and consuming his flesh. Nothing compared to the loneliness that was eating through his soul like acid. He'd slip from consciousness and it would be over._ _

_ _As he stared at his flushed, drawn face in the mirror, he thought of Boris and Ulana. His Boris and Ulana. He couldn't do this if they'd know. He couldn't let them know of his cowardice. But they wouldn't know, would they? They might not even be alive to find out. He wouldn't have been able to do it if there'd been any chance he might hurt them with the news. But there was no one to tell them. No way for them to know._ _

_ _And if they were gone, there was no one left in this world to care._ _

_ _Boris had been wrong. Valery had been the inconsequential one. It was his best efforts that had been for naught. He couldn't save his country. He couldn't save the continent. He couldn't save his friends._ _

_ _And he wouldn't save himself._ _

_ _***_ _


	7. Twenty-eight Past Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ulana…" Svetlana stops herself to take a calming breath "Ulana… you told me about those men. Not just Comrade Shcherbina and Comrade Legasov and the generals. But the ones you sent down to open the sluice gates. No one knew if they would make it to the valves let alone back out again or survive any length of time after. But those men decided to do it anyway because it was what needed to be done. And I'm making the same decision."
> 
> "That was to save millions of people, Sveta." Ulana says shaking her head. "This is to save one man."
> 
> "To save three people." Svetlana corrects. "And… and what kind of people are we if that's not the exact same thing?"
> 
> Ulana was bowled back, teeth slamming together again as her magnificent brain was stilled by that statement. 
> 
> Who are we… who are we…
> 
> Who was she if she wasn't willing to try and save Valery?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy not-quite-Monday everyone!
> 
> Hope this chapter finds you well! I'm posting a bit early because I have a very busy week ahead of me. The ballet company I work for goes into production on Monday, which means that as their stage manager, I will have no life until we close on Sunday. So that means this chapter is early and next week's chapter is going to be a few days late. Thank you so much in advance for understanding about this... life happens, but the fic is finished so new chapters will be coming. It's just a matter of having time to do final edits. The director's commentary will be a little late as well. Probably coming next week sometime for both chapters. If you're interested in that, I post those over on my Tumblr @littlethingwithfeathers.
> 
> And of course... thanks as always for reading and commenting. I really appreciate everyone's kind words and kudos and feedback.
> 
> Thank you also to my beta-readers, @kaminaduck and Lucas. And also to my science advisor @cactusowl.
> 
> Enjoy this week's chapter and I will see y'all next week!

**March 10, 1988**

It had started snowing again that morning, if one could call it snow. It's more of a sodden blanket of greyish slush that had fallen from the sky in heavy clumps only to quickly turn to sticky mud and treacherous ice once on the ground. 

Ulana watches it continue come down outside her lab window, chin on her fist as she waits for her centrifuge to finish its cycle. Even though it's ugly, it's strangely peaceful. And it makes her grateful for the mug of warm coffee that waits for her back at her desk. She was never one to get maudlin over gloomy weather. Rather, she found it helped her focus. No chance of going anywhere or doing anything. It was warm in her lab so why wander out where she might slip and fall, or get soaked to the skin by sleet and rain?

Suddenly, the pensieve silence is shattered by a crashing slam at the lab entrance, and Ulana jumps so hard her glasses nearly fall from her face. At the far end of the lab stands Svetlana, chest heaving having just bull-rushed the door. She barely pauses before she barrels towards Ulana, eyes wide and face drawn.

"Ulana!" She very nearly shouts, voice gone thin with something… awful. 

"What? What is it?" Ulana says, rising and pawing her glasses from her face.

Svetlana reaches her, but doesn't immediately answer. Her eyes dart fitfully around the room, as if looking for a sound from an unseen source. Then she grabs Ulana by the forearm and starts dragging her back across the lab.

"Come with me." She says in a hushed whisper.

Ulana lets herself be dragged, frowning but saying nothing.

Svetlana hauls her over to a supply closet and pushes her through, closing the door behind them. Ulana rounds on her, the obvious question painted on her face, but she says nothing. Svetlana's eyes dart wildly around the closet as well, dancing darkly over the rows of reagents and aging equipment before falling on her mentor's face once again.

"Do you think that they can hear us in here?" Svetlana whispers, the words barely more than ghosts in the dusty air.

Ulana shakes her head, the frown on her face changing. _What has this girl gotten herself into?_

Svetlana takes a deep breath and leans close. "Did you know Valery Legasov tried to commit suicide last week?"

Ulana's eyes go wide with horror and she sways on the spot so hard she has to catch herself on a shelf making the glassware tinkle. "What?" she gasps, her voice falling out from under the word.

Svetlana nods, wringing her fingers together. "He tried to slit his wrists."

"What… what..." She repeats but it's barely more than a puff of air. She sputters and stammers but then Ulana's blankly horrified stare goes deadly sharp. "How do _you_ know?" she asks with pointed alarm.

Svetlana swallows guiltily but doesn't back down. If anything, her shoulders square under the scrutiny. "A few of my undergraduate schoolmates are at Kurchatov. One of them… may have mentioned having worked with him before."

"Before?"

"Before… Chernobyl." Svetlana clarifies. "I… after you told me about him I might've… asked. You know… if it was the same Professor Legasov."

Ulana shakes her head, clearly sick with dread. "Svetlana, I told you-"

"I know you told me. And he never knew the real reason why I was curious, but…"

"But what?" She grabs her rather forcefully by the wrist. "But _what,_ Svetlana? You can't go asking questions about Legasov. You'll… there's your reputation and career and your _life_ to consider. To say nothing of-"

"Ulana, I couldn't just…"

"Couldn't what?" she catches her other hand. "Why couldn't you?"

Svetlana flips her wrists to catch Ulana's hands between hers. "Because…" She pauses to wet her lips as she weighs her next statement very carefully. But then she squares her narrow shoulders and draws herself up to full height. "Because you were thinking about saving him."

"Sveta…" Ulana looks sick at the prospect.

"Ulana, you have to do something now. You and Comrade Shcherbina. You _can_ do something."

"We can do no such thing." Ulana says, pacing away from her a little. "Why on earth would you-"

"I just thought that I would see-" She bites her lip.

"See _what?_"

"Just…" There's a little wilt in her shoulders. "See if I could get a message to him."

Ulana's eyes go deadly cold as she gapes. "No."

"Please. Let me carry the message, Ulana. I can get to him."

"Svetlana, no."

"It's the perfect cover." she says taking her mentor by the arms again. "I have colleagues I can collaborate with. We have projects we've been meaning to do anyway. I can-"

"Absolutely not. I can't risk you."

"You're not risking me. I'm risking myself. I can-"

"No."

She digs her fingers into her shirtsleeves. "But Ulana… What if he tries again?"

Ulana's teeth click together at that, and all the blood drains out of her face leaving her looking ashen and bereft. She has no answer. Nothing but cold grief at the prospect...

"Ulana…" Svetlana stops herself to take a calming breath "Ulana… you told me about those men. Not just Comrade Shcherbina and Comrade Legasov and the generals. But the ones you sent down to open the sluice gates. No one knew if they would make it to the valves let alone back out again or survive any length of time after. But those men decided to do it anyway because it was what needed to be done. And I'm making the same decision."

"That was to save millions of people, Sveta." Ulana says shaking her head. "This is to save one man."

"To save three people." Svetlana corrects. "And… and what kind of people are we if that's not the exact same thing?"

Ulana was bowled back, teeth slamming together again as her magnificent brain was stilled by that statement. 

Who are we… who are we…

Who was _she_ if she wasn't willing to try and save Valery? And Boris? Damn herself, but those two? In a way, she'd gotten them into this. She'd certainly gotten Valery into this. And now she had a way to get them out of it but only if she was brave enough to take the chance. Boris certainly was… He'd met a stranger on foreign soil just to see what he knew about their lover…

Her lover…

God, but she did love him. And she missed them. Missed the future that could never be...

Svetlana must've seen the spark in her mentor's eyes. She takes Ulana's hands in both of hers again, warming her frigid fingers with her own. "I can get into Kurchatov to relay a message. One phone call to my colleague and I can have all the reason in the world to be there as much as I'd like. Let me help you, Ulana. Please. Before he tries again. You know he will."

Ulana's mouth feels dry. She tries in vain to wet it but gives up. The girl is right, damn her. And so ultimately, she just nods. 

Svetlana smiles then, elated. "I think I have come up with a way to relay a message that would be invisible to all but the most trained eyes."

"How trained?" Ulana feels her voice acting without her input.

"Multiple high level degrees in physics and chemistry."

"So… Legasov, then."

"Exactly. I'd hide the message in a dissertation. A code buried in math that only someone who knew what they were looking at would be able to recognize. Just tell me what you want to say and I'll encode it."

"Okay… okay, then I'll need to get to Moscow right away." Ulana says, feet frozen in place as the wheels in her head suddenly spring to life. "I need to go see Boris. Tell him to put things in motion… that I've changed my mind… that..."

Ulana pauses, staring hard at Svetlana who is still beaming with pleasure at the prospect of what's to come. "Are you sure, Svetlana." It isn't really a question. It's a warning. She knows that look. And moreover she knows the feeling that leads to that look. The one of steel-eyed determination. There'll be no dissuading her now. The chase was on.

"If I can help, I have to." Svetlana answered.

"Two aging scientists and a Party man?" Ulana cocks an eyebrow. "Three _dying_ people? We're dying, Sveta. We only have a few years left at best."

"You'll help people in Sweden before you go. Even if it's just for a few years it's more than you can do here in the Soviet Union. And who knows? Maybe your efforts there might help us in the bargain. I can't let that opportunity pass."

"There will be other opportunities, Sveta. Less risky ones."

"To do what? Toil in a lab to gain results to have them sifted through by men who don't give a damn for the truth or the consequences of lies? What we do is sacred, Ulana. What you and Professor Legasov and Comrade Shcherbina did in Chernobyl… for those people. That was sacred, and they silenced you all for it. I cannot let that stand. Not if there's something to be done. It's a simple task. Get a message to Valery Legasov. I can do that. Please." She takes her mentor's hand and squeezes it. "Let me help you. We have to do something before it's too late."

There's a breath of silence as Ulana slowly realizes that Svetlana will never forgive her if she tells her no. And more to the point, the girl is correct. If there's a time to act, it's now. Before Valery tries to kill himself again. Before she and Boris are too sick to flee. It's now or never.

And "never," she realizes, is what she's feared all along. That she'd never see them again. If she does nothing, then it will be true. The answer will be "never."

"Alright." Ulana says softly. "Make your connections. I'll… I have to go see Boris." 

Svetlana lurches forward at that, wrapping her arms around her mentor and squeezing her. Ulana stiffens at first, mostly in surprise, but after huffing out a breath she wraps her arms around her assistant and lets herself feel the exuberance and youthful hope in her frame. And she wills some of it to reinfect her. She remembers this feeling. It had been snuffed out when Valery Legasov had been punished for telling the truth and naught had come of his sacrifice, but she needs it back now. And Svetlana's faith and naivety will have to do in the stead of her own.

And Ulana finds that she's also shorn up by the thought of the smile on Boris's face when she tells him she's found a way to contact Valery. The necessary news of his suicide attempt will be a blow, if he doesn't know already, but that will be fleeting because she will also give him the news that they're going to save him. That she… she hasn't given up.

She's committed now. With Svetlana at risk, there's no going back. But she promises herself she'll never question Svetlana's surety again. Her assistant won't thank her for it. Ulana certainly wouldn't have at her age.

"Be careful." Ulana tells her instead before she lets go. The same warning Valery had once given her. With the same caring, and the same concern, and the same fathomless desire to do the errand for her.

"I will." Svetlana assures her. "I know what's at stake."

Ulana gives her a curt nod, wiping at her damp eyes and smoothing her dress before she opens the closet door. And as she does so, she announces only just a little louder than necessary. "The centrifuge just finished running. Come check these results for me."

***

**March 12, 1988**

Ulana gets the first train ticket available for Moscow, and it has her on Boris's doorstep two days later. She knocks on his door and when he answers, wide-eyed and clearly surprised, she presses a finger over her lips.

He looks her over with shock but nods, holding up a finger of his own. "Good evening, Comrade! Wonderful to see you!" He announces loudly enough for all his attendant listeners as he busies himself retrieving his coat. Then he guides her back out of his apartment building and down onto the street.

At the outset, it's just like any other visit. They walk towards the city center, not touching each other but unable to resist straying closer than strictly necessary. They get a bite of dinner which Ulana can barely eat, though she notices Boris is in similar shape. And then, charade complete, they finally wander to the park near the Bolshoi Theatre just as true dark begins to fall. It's freezing and Ulana is shaking, though not purely from the cold. Her teeth are chattering around the chill as much as the words she's about to speak.

Boris sweeps off his greatcoat and goes to put it around her shoulders but she stops him. "I'm okay, Boris." She says. "It'll drag the ground if you put it on me."

"Then come here." Boris says, pulling it back on and, after a moment's hesitation, she burrows gratefully under the coat, arm sliding up around his waist. Appearances be damned if they're watching. It's cold. Nothing wrong with being cold. Though perhaps if one is Soviet, one shouldn't admit a weakness to cold. One shouldn't have any weaknesses at all, but to hell with it. To hell with all of it at this point.

"What is it, Ulya?" He asks gently, keeping his words tucked between them. "Why the surprise? Not that I'm not thrilled to see you."

She huffs out a laden breath which hangs visibly in the air before her. "Have you heard about Valery?" She asks looking up at him with her lamp-like eyes. 

He looks stricken at the question. Not just the question. At the words themselves. They hardly ever say his name anymore. Not out loud. His outline is always between them, but they never speak his name. He is their secret.

But his name now? And that question?

"Heard what?" He asked, a frown splitting his thunderous brow.

"You…" She narrows her eyes staring up at him. "You don't know. Charkov didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what? What's happened?" Boris asks, fighting to keep his words between them and his eyes straight ahead.

Ulana swallows and pulls herself closer as they walk. Oh God. She didn't want to give his news to him. She'd hoped he already knew. She'd been sure that he already knew...

"He tried to commit suicide, Borja." she says, keeping a vice grip on the volume of her voice. 

She feels the news strike him. He absorbs it like a punch, ribs caving and step slowing, but he doesn't look down and he doesn't stop. He barrels on, gaze steady so as not to give them away to anyone watching. "When?" he asks in a rough whisper.

"A week ago, I think?"

"How did you hear?" There's a warning in his voice now, and the look in his eyes would freeze vodka. _You're not doing anything reckless, are you?_

Ulana lowers her voice. "My assistant." she answers. "One of her old schoolmates from undergrad worked under him before Chernobyl. Apparently, he tried to kill himself by slitting his wrists."

Boris is still trying to absorb the news but he doesn't break stride this time. "His KGB keepers must've found him." He says shaking his head. "Fucking hell… do you know anything else?"

"He's back at Kurchatov now."

"But for how long…" Boris said morosely.

"Exactly. So… So we can't wait." Ulana said, pulling them both to a stop. 

He was frowning again as he looked down at her. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that… I mean that I may have secured a way of accessing Valery. Of getting a message to him. If the deal with the Swedes still stands."

Boris's brows draw up at that. "Quite a change of heart, Ulana."

"He tried to kill himself, Boris." She hisses. "Cut his wrists open and nearly bled to death. We can't know he won't try again."

Boris takes a slow, contemplative breath. "Alright. What's your connection?" 

"My assistant."

"The one who-"

"The same one, yes." she answers. "Her name is-"

"_Don't_ tell me her name." Boris cuts her off more gruffly than he means to. But he can't know her name. He can't. 

Ulana bites her voice in two, and then after a brief second spent swallowing her irritation at being interrupted, she continues. "She has connections to researchers at Kurchatov. Many at my institute do. So it's a good cover. She can get a message to Valery. A physical one."

Boris's brows crowd down around his eyes again. "A physical message is risky."

"Not if you hide it the right way." Ulana says. "You might not like to hear this, but apparently the younger scientists in the Soviet Union have a habit of trading information, usually buried in dissertation proofs, research documents and the like. Hidden just well enough that without a degree in the science in question, you'd never know it was there."

"Clever." Boris says, and then he squints down at her with that appraising look of his. "It's still quite a change of heart, Ulana."

She bends a little under the scrutiny but shakes her head. "I want him back, Boris. I don't want him to try again. He might succeed this time."

"We're all dying, Ulana. I've been coughing up blood for a year. The doctors keep saying 'a year… a year… a year…" but it means nothing. All it really means is “we don’t fucking know.” Valery's probably in the same boat. And you will be too."

"We don't deserve this, Boris." she seethes.

"And what about your assistant? Are you saying she deserves to possibly end up like us? Because that is what will happen to her if she sticks her neck out. Possibly worse."

She cuts her eyes up at him defiantly. "You make it sound like I asked her. She volunteered."

"If she volunteered then you've told her too much." Boris bites back disapprovingly.

Ulana lets a frustrated sigh hiss out of her nose. "Boris, you told me to secure a line of communication to him. I did so. Now are we doing this or not?"

He regards her, and his stare is as cold and hard as the wind that whistled through the city streets. "You're sure? There's no going back from this once we start. Not for you, or me, or our Valery, or your assistant."

"There will be no dissuading her." Ulana said with a rueful shake of her head. "And we have to save Valery. _I_ have to save Valery. I can't let him…" she stops, staring down at her shoes. "I talked him into giving up his life. It's my fault he's in the strait he is now. The straits we're all in now."

"But you are not the only one who will suffer further should we fail." Boris says again. "Your assistant-"

She looks up at him then, her sea-green eyes sharp as daggers. "Were you able to dissuade me with KGB boogey-man stories when I kept pushing Valery to tell the truth in Vienna?"

Boris shuts his mouth and shakes his head.

"Now imagine me twenty years ago. How easily do you think I would have been dissuaded then?"

He clearly lets himself imagine it. So much that he actually smiles and gives a faint nod of his head. "Then it's done. Come on. You're freezing out here for all your stubbornness. Can you stay?"

"My train leaves at 8am." she replies, finally smiling and letting herself lean on him. "Of course I can stay."

Ulana stays tucked up under the shelter of his greatcoat all the way back to his apartment. 

***

**June 4, 1986**

Ulana had been slaving over the data from the Chernobyl disaster for almost two months. Much of the data was easy to find but there were still gaps in her timeline, and she couldn't stand for that. Dyatlov wasn't going to talk unless she could corner him. She'd scoured every corner of the Byelorussian Institute's records for all the schematics she needed. Many of them had to be pulled from archives so deep the wait time was over a week to acquire them, so eventually she had no choice but to wait. Wait and fiddle with what information she had.

But the waiting made her chafe. Especially since she couldn't move forward without the schematics she'd sent off for. She couldn't produce an accurate timeline without knowing things like the layout of the control room, and the function of each and every button and switch on the various control panels throughout the reactor. That meant schematics. That meant archives. And so she had to wait.

She had never been good at waiting. One of the best days in her professional life was the day she got an honest to goodness centrifuge for her lab and no longer had to wait for solutions to separate. She'd been happier then than she'd ever been as a child on Christmas morning.

Ulana supposed that she could spend some time relaxing while she waited for the documents. Maybe even take a day trip somewhere outside the city. But how could she do that with all that was happening? With the fact that Boris and Valery were still stuck in a sweltering, irradiated hell while she comfortably researched and compiled her merry academician heart out. She'd never be able to relax under the best of circumstances. She certainly wasn't going to be able to now.

Of course… she could always go back to Pripyat. 

They would scold her, of course. It was dangerous there. The radiation was less than it had been and they'd borne the brunt of it together, but it was still hazardous. They were still there though, and she found increasingly that she wanted to be where they were. Her thoughts wandered to them all the time, wishing she could do more than compile and compute. But then… that was what she was good at. Tenacious and stubborn, and good with numbers and facts. This really was the best use of her skills, much as she hated to admit it. This was what she should be doing.

When she wasn't waiting on archived schematics.

That was what decided it ultimately. She could do nothing more until she had those files so she might as well go somewhere she wanted to go. And against all sense, all she wanted was to do was go see her boys in Pripyat.

_Her boys._

That's how she thought of them now. The boys. _Her_ boys. Even Boris, despite the fact that she still wondered if he actually liked her or was just amused by her. And by Valery's obvious infatuation with her. Only time would tell.

Not that they would have much of it after this was over.

If it ever ended.

That was the strange irony of Chernobyl. It changed everything. Down to the DNA. Down to the molecule.

But she's already different, so why avoid it?

***

It was easy and quick enough for her to get back to Pripyat. She gave some excuse to the guards at the checkpoint about being on the Chernobyl Commission and needing information that she already had. It was a new batch of soldiers on duty, but they had clearly been there long enough to recognize the signatures of Legasov and Shcherbina without close inspection so they gave her no trouble.

It was well after dark by the time she arrived, so she headed straight for the Polissia Hotel and knocked on both their doors. When no answer came at either, she headed upstairs to their suite and used her key. The door opened to reveal Boris, bottle of vodka and an empty glass beside him, as he leafed through a folder of papers. No jacket. Shoes kicked off too. And the knot of his tie tugged loose so the fabric hung limply around his throat. He looked up with tired, hooded eyes, reflexively irritated at the interruption until he saw her face peering around the door.

He was up in an instant, arms swept wide to wrap her up and she let him. She was ready for it this time. Wanted it even, though she hadn't actually realized it until that moment. She even let him set his chin on the top of her head. She usually hated it when tall people would do that. When they would make her feel short and small, but somehow with Boris now… it just felt like the way of the world. A constant… like the speed of light in a vacuum. 

He was taller than her. Bigger than her. The wall between them and the State. The broad shoulders and strong arms that sheltered them both. The one who carried the worst of the burden. The one who asked for the unthinkable so that they didn't have to.

She tipped her face up to his, head cocked in invitation but a question in her eyes. _Would you like to?_ she seemed to ask, needing no further clarification. They'd never done this before, just the two of them.

And where _was_ Valery?

Boris smiled just a little, barely a twitch of his mouth but a sparkle in his eyes. And he kissed her, so gently and fondly it made Ulana's ribs ache. He tasted like vodka and like… something else. Something sweet. 

He rested his forehead on hers. "I have pastila if you'd like some."

Sweets. Of course Boris had sweets.

"I would if you're offering. And some of your vodka too please. It's been a long drive."

He really did grin at her then. That smile that showed his teeth but hid his storm-shaded eyes in a squint. "Why are you back? Not that I'm not glad to see you."

She felt his smile infect her. Glad to see her? Him? 

"No reason." she replied, following him to the table.

Boris paused then, bottle cap in hand with the neck poised over the glass as he peered at her curiously. "No reason?"

"Other than wanting to see you."

"Me?"

"Both of you." she clarified. "Where is Valery? I stopped by both your rooms on the way up here."

Boris resumed pouring as he jabbed a finger towards the suite bedroom. "Asleep, I hope. He wasn't feeling well."

"Headaches?" she asked, her brow pinching.

Boris just nodded, spinning the cap back onto the bottle.

She deflated a little at that. "That's not good. You haven't been having them have you?"

He shook his head. "No."

She shot a look to the closed bedroom door. "We should get him out of here."

"If you want to try telling him when he wakes up, be my guest. We're supposed to be going to Kiev regularly for treatment but… well..." He set the bottle of vodka aside with a heavy shrug as he took his seat again. "He's as stubborn as I am. I fear he's grown worse for being around me."

"And how often do you go to Kiev for treatment?" She asked with a rather flat look, still tickled with the edge of an exasperatedly amused smile.

He gave no answer, which was answer enough.

She snorted, fingers wrapping around the glass he'd passed to her. "I wish your more attractive traits had rubbed off on each other."

"Are you saying you find me attractive, Comrade?" he teased, reaching below the table and into his bag to produce a small wooden box. Inside, lined up like little soldiers, were the squares of pastila all dressed in powdered sugar and crisp paper cups. The smell of apples and honey was overwhelming in the stale air of the room.

"I'll say only that I see what he sees in you." she cut back slyly as she helped herself to one of the sweets. "That's all I'll admit to."

Boris smiled at her then, but didn't immediately jab back. He just watched her traipse to the window, drink and sweet in hand to stare out over the abandoned city.

"You didn't much like me when we first met. Did you?" Boris said, eyes still on her.

She canted one hip towards him, but didn't look away from the view. "You didn't much care for me either at first, at least in my estimation." Then she cut her eyes over. "Might still not."

"So you admit it." Boris stood from his chair and stalked towards her, the fondly taunting swagger obvious in his hulking frame.

She squared herself to his advance. "And you've not denied it, which is just as good as admitting it." She showed her teeth a little as she bit into the pastila. "Mm… these I do like, however."

"I'm not nearly so sweet, I suppose."

"You could be." He was in arm's reach now and she had to crane her neck to look him in the face. "Sometimes are, I'm told." There was a twinkle in her pale eyes. 

"Sometimes." he allowed. "Sweet doesn't get you far in the Kremlin, I'm afraid."

"But we are not Kremlin officials." She says finishing her pastila and, with rather showy primness, licked the sugar from her fingers.

"And I am not one of your students." Boris openly watched the motion. "Or an assistant in your laboratory. Are you such an alley cat with them?"

"When I sense they need it."

"Oh and I needed it, did I?"

She gave a challenging flick of her bright eyes, tinted to shining silver in the dimness. "You're not the first tall man to talk down to me, Boris Evdokimovich."

He blinked at that, and something in his posture wilted at her riposte which was not what she'd expected. She'd been goading him. And he her. But now he looked… contrite?

"We both did. Didn't we." It wasn't a question. More a guilt-ridden confession. "Valery too. He talked all over you when you first arrived."

A strange sort of tenderness swelled in her heart. "Well… He's taller than me too, if I don't wear heels." she said, giving him a smile to keep her response light. "But I don't hold it against either of you."

Boris just grunted, and the mantle of contrition didn't lift from his shoulders. If anything it settled further, weighing him down into an uncharacteristic slouch.

She couldn't decide what had changed about Boris in the short time they'd known each other but… Chernobyl changed people. That much seemed clear. That seemed to be its purpose in the grand scheme of things. To kill people or change them. And for those that had survived the first night, it seemed up to them which happened first.

But regardless, Boris was changing. And so was she. So were they all. They were living for now… and changing. Together.

Ulana downed her vodka in a single pull of her mouth, grasped him by his tie and reeled him in for a kiss. He came willingly. Easily even, and that shocked her after her experience with him in bed. But when his lips met hers, he opened hungrily for her, allowing her to lick into his mouth.

"I thought you said you didn't like me." Boris said when she withdrew, fingers still gripping his tie.

"I thought you didn't like me."

"I like how tenacious you are. And between you and me, I think you're the smartest of the three of us." Boris said, hands coming up to cup her elbows. "And I like that you challenge us. You never let me cow you."

"I like that you're stubborn." she said, dragging him down for another kiss. She let his easiness soften her smile as she drew back again. "I like that you're sweet. I bet if I went in that bedroom right now I'd find Valery tucked into bed. His glasses on the table and a glass of water and an aspirin beside them."

"I'd take care of you too, Ulya." he said, rolling her name on his tongue like it was one of his sweet indulgences. "If you'd let me."

Ulana savored that admission on the air for a moment. "Show me." She said, releasing his tie but kissing once again. Softer this time. Gentler. It was she that opened her mouth this time, inviting intrusion. Inviting his strength.

Boris read the invitation and backed her towards the couch until the cushions hit the back of her calves and she toppled back onto it. But rather than climbing atop her, Boris hit his knees in front of her, finally placing them eye to eye. She cradled his face, carding her fingers through his thick hair, feeling the change in texture as the strands faded from silver to black. 

"You don't have to do this Boris." she said, suddenly feeling that strange protectiveness washing over her again. "Whatever this is… you don't need to make a show for me. Not really."

"Can I if I want to?" He stretched forward to capture her lips again before she could answer, as if he couldn't get enough of them. "I've not made a show for you, Ulya. Not really. Not yet." His palms stayed fixed to her waist until with the faintest curl of an interested smile, she nodded. 

Boris kissed her yet again, his hands migrating to wrap around her lower back and pull her closer to the edge of the sofa. She slouched down against the cushions in response, her legs falling farther apart as he settled between them. She looked down at him expectantly. Was he really about to do this? Was this where this was going? Just the two of them?

His fingers had slipped down to skim the hem of her skirt, one digit just barely gliding under the fabric. It was part shameless tease and part a plea for permission. "May I?"

"If you'd like." she said, schooling her voice. She couldn't give up the game just yet. If he thought her such an easy wilting flower she might never hear the end of it.

But she wanted to be easy for him… that was the rub. 

"I would like to make up for my past behavior." he said with a rather shocking amount of earnestness. "And this is how I'd like to do it."

"You needn't… abase yourself before me."

"I know." Boris replied leaning forward to kiss her knee. "But may I?"

Her heart fluttered like a trapped bird against her rib cage. How could she deny him when he asked so sweetly? "Of course." 

She leaned back again and Boris's hands slipped up under the pleats of her skirt to pull at her nylons and her underwear. It was a bit of an awkward fumble as she also had to rid herself of her shoes, but eventually he got what he wanted. Her legs bare. All of her bare, hidden under the folds of her skirt. He caressed her just like that, almost as if he was teasing himself. Kneading her thighs and rubbing his thumbs along the creases of her hips, all of his attentions tantalizingly hidden from sight. And he kissed her again. Like her lips held the water of life and he was dying for it, even though it had been less than a minute.

The hem of her skirt was sliding higher and higher, and Ulana fought the urge to slam her knees together. Not that it would have done any good. Boris's broad shoulders were wedged firmly between her legs, and his thumbs were slipping inward towards the cleft of her pussy. But before he got there, he withdrew one hand and pulled the ball of his thumbs past his lips, slicking it generously with spit before replacing it under her skirt.

And slipping it down over the already flushed folds of her pussy. She gasped, arching off the couch a little and having to steady herself on Boris's shoulders. The world wobbled as Boris slid his thumb back and forth, spreading seeping fluid around and around until he found her clit. She moaned when he did, the sound ringing low in her chest. She went a little boneless at his touch, her knees falling even farther open and her grip on his shoulders loosening just a little before she got a handle on herself again.

When the initial pleasured shock wore off, Ulana sat forward so she could rock herself with lazy wantonness against his fingers as she worked to pull his tie loose. He was always so buttoned up and pressed. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to see him pulled apart between her legs. She groaned as she started in on his buttons because as she worked, his fingers were doing wicked things to her clit, but she managed to get enough undone to reveal the silvery tufts of his chest hair. She buried her face in it, kissing her way up his neck and sliding her hands greedily inside his shirt. She wanted to touch him where no one could see. She wanted to touch him and-

One of her fingers grazed something. A soft raised place on the surface of his skin. He didn't flinch, but he did look up at her strangely when he felt her touch pass over it, and he watched with rapt attention as she peeled back the collar of his shirt to see what it was.

She hadn't seen it before. He'd kept his undershirt on last time. And it had been dark and she hadn't had much opportunity to explore, seeing as she'd been pinned to the mattress. But now she discovered that there was a round, rough, raised patch of skin no bigger than a single kopeck coin just below his collarbone. A scar. An old one. The color had faded with time, but the wound that had caused it was deep enough to still be there. Deep enough to show itself clearly for what it was.

A bullet wound.

Boris had been watching her, and he felt her breath still when she realized what she was looking at. What she was touching.

But he smiled. Warm, but still ribald and teasing. “You thought me no more than a soft, pampered bureaucrat, didn’t you, Ulya?"

The endearment struck her almost physically. But she managed to keep her wits about her enough to keep talking. "How, Borja?"

"A Finnish gun." He answered, his fingers still moving between her legs as he spoke. "During the Winter War. I lead a charge up a hill, and got what comes to the bold men who do such things."

Ulana had to fight to keep her vision from blurring. He was infuriatingly good with his hands and they hadn't stopped just because she'd stumbled upon something that halted her exploration. "Is that why I hear the soldiers calling you the Ukrainian Bull?"

He did smile then. All teeth and hidden eyes and full of mischief. And one sweetly cocky eyebrow. "Part of the reason."

Boris bowled her back onto the couch cushions, pulling one leg over his shoulder. He used both hands to push her skirt up and pressed his face between her legs. His tongue was wriggling inside her and against her clit, and Ulana nearly screamed at the sensation. But she censured herself into little more than a whispery gasp, the sound drawn as thin as piano wire.

She dared to look down and could hardly believe what she was seeing. Boris Shcherbina… all six feet and seven inches of him was on his knees before her, licking her out like she'd paid him to do it. Willingly. And so _gently._ He did nothing gently outside of this room. Outside of their little triangle. But with the two of them… with her and Valery, he was gentle. Observant. They argued. They debated. They sniped. But Boris… he was careful with the two of them. Even when his temper flared.

He was so good to them. And he was being so good to her. Making up for all his perceived shortcomings. And if he was going to eat her out like this, she certainly wasn't going to argue his need for atonement.

"Put your fingers in me, Borja. So… you don't have to wait."

He complied but looked up at her over the rumpled hem of her skirt. "Wait for what, Ulya?"

"To fuck me."

"Did you want me to?"

"I was hoping you would, now that you mention it."

He made a little noise of intrigue low in his throat and set back to work, his tongue on her clit joined by two fingers curling shallowly against her quivering inner walls. 

It didn't take her long after that. He was an observant lover and could tell exactly what caresses from his mouth and fingers drove her closer to the edge. It was infuriating that he was so good at this. So good at getting what he wanted from her, but she was powerless to stop him. Not that she wanted to. She'd missed this, she realized. She'd missed being with them like this. It had only been the once and yet she missed it. Craved it like oxygen, much as she'd like to deny it.

Boris was sucking on her clit now, tongue working in tight little circles as he pumped his fingers in and out. Little arcs of pleasure had begun to zip out from everywhere he touched and her skin had begun to flush with the exertion of staying still. She wanted to writhe and thrash at the sensations he sent rushing up from her core, but that would mean losing contact with his mouth which was completely unacceptable. 

"Borja…" she let the name escape her on a whispery little moan. And he answered the sound in kind groaning against her pussy and sending vibrations through her core. That was all it took to spill her over the edge. He curled his fingers one last time and just like that she was gripping up tight around them, coming so hard her vision went white even as she cinched her eyes closed.

When she came back to herself, his fingers were still on her, working her clit in little circles, but he was looking up at her and smiling with lips red and swollen from his ministrations. She tugged limply at his mussed shirt, dragging him up onto the couch beside her. With fingers gone sluggish from her orgasm, she unbuckled his belt and worked his fly open. She pulled herself astride his thick thighs and sat on his cock the instant she'd freed it from his underwear, and he grabbed her around the shoulders bearing her down on his length in a single thrust.

"Ulya…" he groaned against her throat. "Ulya… oh…"

"How do you want it? Fast?" she asked, cradling his face.

His hands slid up her thighs to find purchase in the crease of her hips. He rocked her over him in slow rolling thrusts that had the girth of his cock pressing deeply into her. Almost painfully. But it was a sweet pain. A stretch that bled over into a wonderfully slick sort of pressure that had her melting over him. 

She kissed him almost without realizing she was doing it. She licked into his mouth, her tongue sliding over his in a wonderful mirror of how his cock felt within her. Deep, insistent, and intrusive in all the best ways and he groaned at it, clutching her close against his chest. 

"Like that?" she asked, nibbling lightly beneath his ear.

"Like this, Ulya." he said, his voice even rougher than usual. "Like… this… oh… oh oh oh…"

Ulana had let her lips drift lower. Nipping at the sensitive skin along his throat to eventually lay a wet, open-mouthed kiss over the bullet scar she'd discovered. He bucked up into her at that, prompting her to halo it with kisses, licking and sucking lightly where no one could see. No one else could touch him. No one but Valery. Something in her thrilled at leaving little marks for him to find… traces of her mouth where his would follow. 

But… she wished that he was here. And yet she didn't, she realized as she pulled back to look at Boris. It was important that they have this for themselves. Just the two of them. It had never been just the two of them, and as unexpected as it was, Ulana could feel a fondness stirring within her for the man blissed out and writhing underneath her. It wouldn't be the same as with Valery… she and Boris were destined to fight until the end of time most likely. But they also had this.

They also had this…

And they should have it at least once. Just the two of them…

Oh, and it was sweet...

The pressure in her core was rising with each bucking thrust of his hips. She reached down between them, questing to find her clit but Boris took her hand. "Tell me what you need, Ulya. I want to give you whatever you need."

"My clit, Borja… just… I need a little…" she didn't need to find further words to explain herself. His thumb was there in an instant painting sinuous little circles over the sensitive little nub. Fresh waves of pleasure began to wash up from Ulana's core, but it wasn't just that driving Ulana closer to the edge of climax

Boris stared up at her as if she were something divine. His heavy features had gone slack with want as she rode his cock in time with his thrusts. He was quiet, only whispering her name when she ground down on him just a little tighter. And when his hand trembled on her thigh and his jaw clenched she knew he was close to.

"I'm almost there, Borja." she whispered, hearing him groan in response. "I want you to come inside me… make me come, Borja."

"Oh Ulya... " was all he could manage. His eyes slipped closed and his head tilted back, but the precision of his hands never wavered. The pressure on her clit stayed constant and perfect and he guided her hips with his other hand. All in a perfect unceasing rhythm that ended when they both gasped out each other's names as they tumbled over the precipice together. For a moment everything turned desperate and slick and wonderful before a lovely, cloying fog filled their minds.

They puddled onto the couch on their sides, Ulana draped half over top of him and falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat almost instantly. Boris lingered, long enough to tuck himself back into his pants and ensure she was comfortable.

He only dozed really. It wasn't a proper sleep, though he'd hardly been so relaxed lately. But he was easily roused when the bedroom door creaked open and Valery, clad only in his khaki work pants and undershirt came padding out into the living room on socked feet.

"Boris? What?" He was blinking and pulling on his glasses as he stepped closer to the blurry figures on the couch. Eventually when they revealed themselves to be none other than Boris and Ulana, he smiled. "What's she doing here?"

"Wanted to see you." Boris said with a smile. "But she made do with me in the meantime." 

Valery had to laugh, boyish dimples piercing his cheeks as he sat on the arm of the sofa across from them. He just looked at them for a long time. At Ulana's peaceful face and watched as Boris painted long soothing lines over her back. Never had there been a more beautiful and peaceful sight. And here of all places.

If only the couch was a little bigger. He suddenly had a strong and unaccountable desire to go back to bed, and bring them with him.

"How are you, Valera?" Boris said after awhile, worry pinching his heavy brow. "How are you feeling?"

Valery pulled in a slow breath, feeling himself smile as he did so. "Better." he replied in a tone that had nothing to do with his health. "Much, much better."

***

**April 2, 1988**

The scars on Valery's wrists still itch. It's an awful and constant reminder of what he'd tried to do and failed.

Failed yet again.

He couldn't even end his own life properly. Perhaps this truly was to be it. Just a slow petering out into nothing. It was the end Charkov promised after all. He'd been right about almost everything else, so why not this?

Funny. It had been his KGB agent who had found him. They'd come looking when he hadn't left for work but also hadn't called in sick. No one from the institute missed him. There wasn't anyone to miss him really. 

_No duties. No authority. No friends…_

Perhaps he'll try again if he ever finds the guts, but for now it's back to the routine of switching between tiny apartment and even tinier office and back again. Over and over, with only his sweet Polina for company.

It had been a day at Kurchatov like any other. An exam in the morning and then office hours. Which essentially meant he was to sit and wait for students to come ask him questions until it was time to go home. But he had no students. He had no classes. Just the odd colleague who might need his help, but it was never for anything much. And he always had the sense that he was the last resort on the most esoteric chemistry questions.

But late into the afternoon, just before he had begun to pack up to go home, there is a knock at his door.

"Come." He calls around the butt of a freshly lit cigarette.

A young woman's head was pokes through his door. A stranger. He's never seen her before. She has short dark hair and almost insufferably bright eyes. And she looks… surprised to see him.

Is that surprise on her face? Or something else...

"Can I help you?" Valery asks, his voice scratchy with disuse. "I think you might be lost."

"You're… Professor Valery Alexeyevich Legasov?"

He frowns at that. It's an instantaneous and paranoid reaction. No one came to his office or called him so formally by name. Not ever. Certainly not someone like her. Someone of assistantship age?

"Yes?" He replies carefully. "I am he, but-"

The woman slips through the door, closes it behind her, and just stands there a moment, blinking and staring. As if she's not quite sure what she's seeing. As if she's seeing something for the first time. Valery can't imagine what that would be. She seems… dumbstruck.

"Are you alright?" he asks, shrinking back in his chair a little. "You're sure you aren't lost?"

"No, no… I…" She steps to his desk, pulling a large twine-bound document from behind her back. "I'm sorry. So sorry. I didn't think you'd be in. They'd told me you'd left for the day. I just… I was told to drop this off on your desk. It was left in the mailroom for you. Didn’t make it on the cart for morning rounds.”

"The mailroom?" he repeats, pulling a quick draw off his cigarette.

"Yes." She holds it out to him.

Valery frowns. He doesn't usually get mail. And that's not the only strange thing at play. There something… this young woman with her bright eyes and too-intense stare. She knows something. She's up to something. But she's not like the dead-eyed KGB agents that follow his every step. No, she doesn't remind him of them at all. There is someone she reminds him of, though they look nothing alike.

_Ulana._

When that thought skims across his mind, he tips his cigarette into the ashtray and holds out his hand. The young woman passes him the document with a sudden smile. A strange smile. As strange as her expression previous, but it doesn't make him dread. It makes him unbearably curious.

"Thank you." he says, setting the document on his desk.

"Have a good day, Professor Legasov." she says, her voice leaning just a shade towards fondness. Just a shade towards something like wondering affection. It's been so long since anyone has spoken to Valery with respect. With kindness. With warmth. Usually it's bored disinterest or outright derision.

And he's so busy marveling at it, that she's out the door before he even thinks to ask for her name. Though perhaps that's for the best.

Valery opens the document and skims the abstract and table of contents, frowning again because the subject matter is not something he's terribly familiar with. And it's also not anything unique or groundbreaking. The dissertation seems mostly concerned with proving theories that already have been proven by different methods. It's little more than an exercise in rigor than anything revolutionary or interesting.

Why the hell was he sent this? The author isn't anyone he knows. Not even someone he's heard of. Maybe he's on a defense panel and no one told him? It wouldn't be the first time. But then… why had it come through the mail room?

He reaches for his cigarette and flips a few more pages, reaching a section of equations. Line after line of letters and numbers… formulae and…

His now perpetual frown deepens. Something doesn't make sense. This was supposed to be a paper about reactivity in heavy metals… so why are there noble gases in some of these equations? Perhaps it was a typo, but as Valery turns the page he discovers yet more strange or flatly erroneous formulae. Things that have nothing to do with metals… or even chemistry at all. One line of math is something to do with velocity, not chemical compounds.

He cuts his eyes to his closed office door, replaying the exchange with the young woman with the short hair. Something very strange is going on, and he isn't sure what it is. But he knows very suddenly and certainly that the girl who'd just dropped this off was not from the mailroom. And that this document isn't a dissertation. And he's also quite certain that it hasn't been brought to him by mistake.

He pulls out a periodic table for reference, and begins to tease at the first equation, fiddling with the formula until he realizes that the bogus math is the key to the code. And quite a simple one at that, if one happens to understand nuclear chemistry. After he discovers this, it's simply a matter of transcribing the chemical formulas into words which for him is only an exercise in patience and persistence. 

Only one person could have thought of this, he thinks fondly as he works. Only one person was this insufferably clever and stubborn, and had the knowledge necessary to devise such a code. No wonder the girl had reminded him of Ulana.

Though as the message takes shape, it's quite clear that Ulana is not the only one involved here. And this is not a simple greeting.

It's an escape plan devised by Boris.

A plan had been hatched, and they would, all three of them, defect to Sweden to assist their government in cleaning up the fallout from Chernobyl. And more importantly, they would be fleeing the KGB.

Together.

Valery's insides clench at that. Boris and Ulana were risking everything to get all of them out of the country. If he had a safe way to reach them he would tell them no. Tell them to stop. Tell them it wasn't worth it to try and save a dying man. 

He looks down at his hands, the fresh scars on his wrists peeking out under his shirt cuffs.

A dead man…

But he can't contact them. He has no safe way to do so, and that would surely tip their hand. And these plans were already in motion by the sounds of things. Train tickets were purchased. Drops were being scheduled. And he has instructions. Buy a hat. Buy a new coat. 

It makes his head spin.

He has less than a month if he's reading this right. There would be no stopping this. He could either jump aboard both the metaphorical and literal train, or choose to not meet them and let them go without him. Though it sounds like he might be the bargaining chip that would get them all out of the Soviet Union, so he might not have a choice.

What was Sweden even like? He'd never spared it a thought. He'd never been out of the country save those few days spent lying to the world in Vienna. And he'd hardly seen any of the city save on the trips from the hotel to the conference and back. He didn't even travel outside of Moscow often. Chernobyl had been his first trip to the Ukraine. In short, he had no idea what it would be like outside.

But the gates of Hell itself would be paradise compared to this. Especially if it was there that he could see Boris and Ulana again. 

Valery closes the "dissertation" and gently and ever so privately presses the cover to his face. He imagines Boris in clandestine meetings securing all the means they would need. He sees Ulana carefully crafting the document he's holding and sending someone… some colleague… probably that very girl he'd seen to deliver the message. He imagines them talking together… hushed whispers and furtive looks as his Boris and his Ulana planned their escape.

God, they were still alive, and he was being rescued. He need only hold on tight. Just follow their instructions and they would get him out of this.

And for once, he thinks it best to just listen to his comrades.

***


	8. Braver Souls Than You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hardest part of the whole plan for Ulana was going to work that last day as if it was any other day. Meeting with colleagues and making research plans as though she would still be there the following week. Sending off for schematics and diagrams like she needed them. Ordering equipment like she would be there to use it. 
> 
> Perhaps worse than that was having to see Svetlana one last time. Because distressingly, she wasn't coming with them. Ulana had offered and she'd turned it down. Ulana had begged, and she'd said no. Multiple times.
> 
> "What if they catch you?" Ulana had asked.
> 
> "They won't. They can't trace it to me unless Professor Legasov gives me up."
> 
> "You can't know you weren't followed."
> 
> "Neither can you. And we'll all be in trouble anyway if that's the case."
> 
> "You helped us. Let us help you."
> 
> "I'm fine, Ulana. I'll be fine. You'll see."
> 
> All to no avail. The willful girl wouldn't budge. Not that Ulana could really grudge Svetlana her stubbornness. She'd been known for being just as stubborn before all of this. She only hoped that Svetlana might not come to the same end as she had herself. Or Valery. 
> 
> Or worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday everyone!
> 
> Hey look at that! I made it by the deadline! Thank you all so much for your patience with my wobbly schedule these past few weeks. Things should run more or less on time for the remainder of the story. Only a few chapters left!
> 
> Thank you to my tireless beta readers @kaminaduck and Lucas. And also to my science advisor @cactusowl.
> 
> And thank you to everyone who has left comments and kudos, asked questions, encouraged me... you guys mean the world to me! So thank you so so so much.
> 
> And now... on with the chapter!

**April 25, 1988**

The hardest part of the whole plan for Ulana was going to work that last day as if it was any other day. Meeting with colleagues and making research plans as though she would still be there the following week. Sending off for schematics and diagrams like she needed them. Ordering equipment like she would be there to use it. 

And it was not just the forced mundanity either. Perhaps worse than that was having to see Svetlana one last time. Because distressingly, she wasn't coming with them. Ulana had offered and she'd turned it down. Ulana had begged, and she'd said no. Multiple times.

"What if they catch you?" Ulana had asked.

"They won't. They can't trace it to me unless Professor Legasov gives me up."

"You can't know you weren't followed."

"Neither can you. And we'll all be in trouble anyway if that's the case."

"You helped us. Let us help you."

"I'm fine, Ulana. I'll be fine. You'll see."

All to no avail. The willful girl wouldn't budge. Not that Ulana could really grudge Svetlana her stubbornness. She'd been known for being just as stubborn before all of this. She only hoped that Svetlana might not come to the same end as she had herself. Or Valery. 

Or worse.

With all this weighing down on Ulana like a sodden blanket, the day winds down so slowly that the passing of time is utter agony. The painfully audible ticking of the clock is like a miner's pick between Ulana's eyes. Every second that passes stretches out into a tiny anxiety and boredom fueled eternity. The tedium is galling and numbing all at once, with both she and Svetlana working and pretending this isn't the last day they'll occupy the same office. And they had no way to mark it. That this was it for the two of them, no matter the outcome.

No matter the outcome…

The outcome hadn't really mattered before, Ulana realizes as she watches her assistant typing merrily away at her computer. But now, with Svetlana's neck potentially on the chopping block, it matters so much. And it should have with Valery too, she thinks with a sickening stab of fresh guilt. It's not just her skin in the game. It's Valery's. It's Boris's. And now it's Svetlana's too. 

It's Svetlana's most of all in a way. The three of them are dying. They'll be lucky to get just a handful of years together in Sweden before they all succumb to Chernobyl's fatal sentence. But Svetlana? She's young and healthy, and gifted with so much potential and ambition. Even if she just quietly kept to a lab, there was no limit to the number of things she could discover. The number of things she could help build and create.

And she's gambling it all for three dying people. Boris might've known braver souls than Ulana, but she would wager her last kopeck that he'd never met anyone as brave as Svetlana.

Two o'clock rolls around and Ulana glances at her assistant. They've both been fidgety and unfocused all day, and it's clear neither one of them is able to work right now. Ulana stands and pulls her jacket from the back of her chair. "I feel like a walk and something from the pastry shop. Would you care to join me?"

Svetlana is on her feet before she's finished asking the question, as if she's been waiting for this all afternoon. "Please." she says, heading briskly for the exit with Ulana on her heels.

They get their treats to go in paper sacks, Svetlana with her little custard-filled pontchiks and Ulana with a pile of sushki. By way of silent agreement, they take the long way back to the campus, dragging their feet as they enjoy their sweets.

"These are Boris's favorites, you know." Ulana says, holding up one of the little rings of sugared dough. "He likes the ones with poppyseeds."

"No, I didn't know that." Svetlana replied, dabbing with one knuckle at the powdered sugar on her nose.

"Did I ever tell you about my first night in Pripyat?" she asks around a mouthful of pastry.

"No…?" Svetlana drew the word up into a question.

"Got myself arrested by the border guards actually as I headed into the zone. On purpose of course, so they would take me to someone important. They took me to General Pikalov who took me to Valery and Boris when I told him what I knew. About the sand and the boron? And once I told them about the bubbler pools, I'd insisted on staying to assist their efforts. Boris didn't know a thing about nuclear reactors at the time though he made quite a student of himself during our time together. And Valery isn't a nuclear engineer. He studies chemistry and physics. So clearly they needed me." She cut her assistant a sly smile which made them both giggle. "And while Boris and Valery were helping me settle in, Boris took us to their work trailer and produced this powder-pink box of sushki from his favorite bakery back in Moscow."

"You're kidding." Svetlana said with a girlishly wondering grin. "From all the way in Moscow?"

"I am not. That was Boris. He had pastries brought all the way from Moscow for himself and whoever he deemed in need of them… probably just for Valery and General Pikalov when he'd asked for them."

"And then for you." Svetlana adds.

"And me." Ulana agrees, her voice turning wistful. "For all his gruffness and bluster, Boris takes care of his own."

Svetlana smiles, her eyes going a little distant as she quite clearly daydreams for a moment, her mind inhabiting a space with the story. With the Boris she'd heard so much about. Gruff and stubborn, but with a sweet tooth too, and a doting smile. "I like him. Even though he sounds like… a handful. I think I'd like him."

"He'd take care of you too, you know. He'd get you out of harm's way. It's not too-"

"Ulana…" Svetlana gives her a wearied look.

"He knows someone is helping me. I haven't given him a name. He won't let me, but-"

"Then I'm not in danger."

"Sveta, please-"

Svetlana stops them then, reaching out to take her mentor's hand in a tight grip. "Ulana, I can't leave. Not knowing what I know. Not knowing what you've told me. Not knowing how you've struggled, and how Comrade Shcherbina and Comrade Legasov have worked for change and failed. But you were so close and-"

Ulana shook her head trying with all her strength to school the creeping horror from her face. "Svetlana, you can't go public with this. They'll denounce you. Even if you had credible sources, which you don't, they'll go after everyone you know. Your career… everything will be ruined."

"What am I doing in this field if not telling the truth?"

"It's not the truth that matters, Svetlana. Not anymore. They don't care. They'll bury you."

"Listen to me. What is the pursuit of science for if not for the pursuit of the truth?" Svetlana argued. "I'm not going to tell your story, Ulana. You're right. I'd never be believed. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to go find my own." And she lowers her voice, pulling her mentor closer. "Chernobyl isn't the only thing they've ever lied about. You know it's true. I know it's true."

"Svetlana, you don't understand. The things that are at stake-"

"No, I do understand." She corrects her. "You made me understand. I know what's at stake on both fronts. All of Chernobyl was this balancing act of trading lives. A few lives now to save thousands. A thousand lives now to save millions. And Comrade Legasov tried to pay for every life in the Soviet Union with his own when he went public at the trial."

"At my insistence."

"And you weren't wrong." Svetlana says, giving her hand a firm shake. "You weren't wrong."

"Sveta, how can you say that when…"

"So it didn't work. It doesn't mean it wasn't the right thing to do. We are scientists. We don't even tell the truth. We tell facts. That's all Comrade Legasov did. He told the truth about the facts of the situation at Chernobyl and at sixteen other power plants across the nation. And it _was_ the right thing to do. He had to try."

Ulana soaks that in. "Then are we doing the right thing now? Your life is on one side of the scale. Your whole life, Svetlana. Your career. Your family. Your future. Everything. For what… a scant few years on the outside for us? Three old, used up people..."

"Yes. Yes exactly. Because it's not just any three people. It's the happiness of three people who deserve nothing less than peace after everything they've been through. And it's three people who can help the citizens of the world beyond our borders." Ulana says squeezing her fingers. "That's opposite me on the scale, and I'm deciding that it's where I should be. There will always be something on the opposite side of the scale from me. There can't not be. Not anymore. Not after what I know."

Ulana feels the cold claws of guilt sink into her gut. "I won't be able to live with myself if something happens to you, Sveta." she says.

"Have faith, Ulana." Svetlana says with a smile only the exuberance of youth can give. "We both have work to do yet. You're going to Sweden to help them. And I'm going to stay here and help the Soviet Union."

Ulana can only shake her head. There really never was any arguing with this girl.

"Hey." Svetlana says, gripping her hand tightly again to make her mentor meet her eyes. "Listen to me, Ulana Yuriyvna. It is up to smart women like us to fix the mistakes of frightened old men. You're going to do it in Sweden. And I'm going to do it here. Alright?"

Ulana can only smile at that. Smile and remember when she was so confident and brave. And with a slow pull of breath, she lets it infect her. Lets it wash over and through her and find all the empty channels that her cowardice had drained dry. Lets it soak in and rain down and bring her courage to flower again.

"Yes. Alright." she says. "Alright."

"Good." Svetlana says with a satisfied smile as they drop hands and continue walking. And then suddenly, Ulana bursts out laughing. Uncontrolled and unabashed. A laugh so hard it shakes her petite frame.

"What?" Svetlana says. "What?" 

"It was a stirring speech, Sveta." she says, fairly coughing the words out. "But you have powdered sugar on your nose."

Ulana's laughter spills over to her assistant until they're both leaning on each other and shaking as Svetlana wipes at her face with her shirtsleeve.

"Did I ever tell you about the time Boris briefed Comrade General Tarakanov with a dot of icing on his nose?" Ulana asks, laughter still coloring her voice.

"No!" Svetlana replies, still fighting the giggles and dancing in place at the prospect of another story. "Tell me!"

***

**December 16, 1986**

It was cold for a walk. The dead of December in the Ukraine was frigid on the best of days, but at night, with a wind keeping pace it was bone cold. And cutting. It sliced straight through their warm winter clothes. Boris in his greatcoat and Ulana in her fur-lined leather trench. But Valery was only in a light jacket and sweater. No scarf. No sweater. No gloves. He flushed with the cold. His ears turned redder than she'd ever seen. But still they walked and they talked, just like always. It was the only place that they could.

But even for all their determination, it really was too cold for this. Ulana walked close to Valery and so did Boris. Though they couldn't touch him out in the open like this, they shielded him from the wind as best they could. After what they'd just discussed it seemed like the least they could do. 

The conversation was mostly technical matters between Ulana and Valery. Boris lagged behind just a hair and watched them talk. And argue. And debate. And discuss. They were talking about Volkov's article, but that was the most he could make of it. He didn't understand a word of what they were actually saying about it, but he loved to watch it. They were beautiful together, his Ulya and his Valera. Fairly incandescent. 

But even as cold as it was, when they rounded the corner to the hotel, Valery kept going straight down the street, a silent indication that he wasn't ready to go back just yet. Wasn't ready to go back to that world. Even talking about such things as redacted articles and KGB secrets… it was still preferable to the quiet of his room. And neither Ulana nor Boris felt inclined to disagree. 

So they kept wandering the abandoned streets of Pripyat. Passing the hospital, and the public park, and the creaking ferris wheel. The empty apartments. The pool and the community center and the school. The playground where Valery and Boris had played on the swings. They were probably the last to do so. Theirs the last laughter in that place. 

Eventually, a silence stretched out between them, only broken by the beginnings of snowfall and, of all things, an apology. 

"I am sorry, Ulana." Boris said. "I didn't wish to be so rough with you just then. I just…"

"It's alright, Boris." she replied, falling back into step with him, though she took two steps to his one. "You're… you're right. I hate it but-"

"You're both right." Valery cut in. He had wandered a small distance away, flicking the snow-covered merry-go-round to watch the drifts fly off. "You're both right."

"Valera…" Ulana started.

"No, it's alright. There's… there's just no good answer to this."

"But if we tried with the KGB…" Boris started.

"We will." Valery said looking up at him. "I'll let you. Because I want that to work. It's the cleanest solution. The safest."

"And if it doesn't work?" Ulana pushed.

He swallowed and shook his head. "I don't know. I suppose… I suppose… I'll have no choice."

"Valera…" It was Boris pleading with him now. "Valera, don't."

"I'm only going to live a few more years anyway, Borja." he shrugged. "May as well profit something from the venture."

"Valera!" Ulana admonished. "Listen to yourself." She turned to Boris. "Can we even be sure they'd kill him?"

Boris had never looked more like a thundercloud than he did in that moment. He shook his head and lifted his shoulders in a laden shrug. "They'd do worse if they could. And not just to him. To us. To all of us."

"The cancer will be worse than anything they might do." Valery said, shuffling his feet. "It won't be a dignified way to go."

"Valera, please…" Ulana begged, stepping close enough to touch but still not daring.

"You both sound like your worlds will end with me gone." He laughed mirthlessly, though it died on his lips when he saw their stricken faces. Saw them pale and draw in on themselves. "What? It's not like we'll see much of each other once our part in this is over. Did you think there's some cottage for us in the country somewhere? Some… paradise where we might…" he cuts himself off with a shake of his head. "I don't know. You'll both be fine. We all will be. Whatever happens."

"Valera, come here." Boris said, his voice rough and commanding but also gentle. There was a plea threaded through the demand.

Valery went as if pulled by gravity. He buried his face in Boris's greatcoat, and felt the supple leather of his glove on his cheek. It was only then he truly seemed to realize how cold he was. Once Ulana had joined him, burrowing herself under Boris's arm and holding them both surprisingly tight. 

"There will be a future for us." Boris said with a rattling sort of certainty. "Maybe not your country cottage, doubtless with a million scrawny cats running the place." Valery laughed, the sound taking on a smoky shape in the frigid air. "But a future. I'll see to it. You'll see."

Valery didn't answer. He didn't have the heart in him to argue… and more to the point, he didn't want to. He wanted to stay like this forever. Nevermind that his feet were numb and his knuckles burned and itched with the cold. He felt safe here, cocooned as he was with his…

What were they?

There wasn't quite a name. They certainly hadn't courted and of course none of them would marry in any combination. But they could never be truly separate again. Never extricated by any force on Earth. Or at least that was how it felt in that moment, shivering together on the abandoned playground.

What… was this?

Valery wasn't sure. Relationships were never his forte anyway, professional, personal, or otherwise. But… whether or not he could name this. Whether or not they could hang words on it… this was theirs. 

They were theirs. Each other's. 

He kissed both of them in turn, and watched as they kissed each other, theirs having a playful grudgingness like children being told to make-up after a fight.

"Come on." Boris rumbled. "There's a bottle of vodka in our suite with our names on it. And I'm about to freeze."

They held hands until they were in sight of the hotel again, both Boris and Ulana still sheltering Valery from the cold as best they could. There was no one to see them but the ghosts in the buildings.

***

The train station in Minsk is roiling with people that night. It's early in the week and the usual crowd commuting to the city for work are just arriving, especially those with any kind of official Party business. Part of the reason Boris chose the date was because there was a Communist Party conference taking place in the Minsk headquarters. More people flowing in than usual meant that there was less chance for her to be spotted on the way out.

Ulana can't help but mark the date for another reason though. It can't be on purpose, and yet it feels like divine providence. Not as advantageous for their plans, but as more of an omen. A sign for good or ill though? She can't be sure. 

But either way, by the time she leaves the shores of the Soviet Union, it will be morning on April the 26th.

Two years since Reactor 4 at Chernobyl exploded.

Two whole years.

It feels like it's been an eternity and an instant all at once.

But she observes this fact numbly. As numbly as she does everything else after she departs her lab at the institute for the last time. Once she's shed the last vestiges of normalcy, she feels adrift. As if she's following an instruction list like some kind of automaton. And she is really. An instruction list she committed to memory two weeks ago. Boris had made her repeat it and repeat it, until he was certain she'd be able to mutter the words on her deathbed. 

Pack light. Just what she would need for a short holiday. Convincing things. Not provisions, just in case her bag was searched.

She should make sure she is dressed comfortably and in dark clothes. She should also have shoes hidden in her bag that would be suitable for walking over a long distance. 

She should also have her papers, tickets, and money all in easy reach.

If she's asked where she is going, she should say she is headed to Jurmala by way of the city of Riga in Latvia. She is going on vacation. If recognized as Ulana Khomyuk of the Chernobyl Commission, she is to say she is unwell and hopes the sea air will do her some good. If pressed, produce tickets and information about the hotel. This is all factual. There is a reservation in Jurmala in her name.

But she is not going to Jurmala, of course. She will get off the train at Riga and meet Boris in an alley a short distance away from the station. He will have a car, having driven himself from Moscow.

Most importantly (and worryingly), Valery will be traveling on her train. If she sees him, which is unlikely, she is not to speak to him, sit with him, or acknowledge him in any way. In fact, it's best if they are not on the same car.

Above all else, she is not to speak to _anyone_ unless she must. She should draw as little attention as possible. Read a book or sleep, and just get to Riga where Boris will be waiting. He would be handling the rest.

To her credit, Ulana manages to keep her nerves in check until she reaches the train station. For some reason, the tightly pressing bustle of people, the knowledge that there are potential eyes everywhere, and the endless chattering and screeching of trains over tracks turns her mind into a seething pit of acidic what-ifs. Everyone is a potential threat. Everyone. And she can't look everywhere at once. Nor should she even be trying to. 

Somehow, she keeps her wits about her though. Eyes ahead and face completely placid. She finds her train quickly and boards to find the first car is already full. As is the second and the third. And the fourth. Fifth and sixth and seventh…

Finally, she reaches the eighth and final passenger car and sighs with relief to spot several empty seats. One by the window even. But she also spots something else.

Or rather… someone else.

There. About five rows deep and perched precariously on an aisle seat, is none other than Valery Legasov. He had looked up when the train-car door opened, and now he's staring at her from behind those familiar and perennially smudged glasses. He looks much the same as she remembers. Ill-fitting baggy suit. Pale eyes. Ginger hair… a bit thinner now. And while he's the picture of her memories, he looks older. Not aged but worn. Old like she feels and imagines she must look if she ever bothered with a mirror. He looks small in his clothes. Frail. But still boyish. It's still that sweet face she remembers. That sweet face that had first made her heart ache with protective instinct.

There he is. Just… right there. A few meters away. 

And she can't go to him. Can't even acknowledge him. Mercifully, he looks away and so does she, returning to the task of finding a seat.

"Excuse me." The gentleman entering the train car behind her touches her shoulder.

"I'm sorry." Ulana says shaking herself and moving to the available window seat. She had stopped like a dull idiot right in the doorway and now there was a queue behind her. She puts away her luggage and sits down making herself as small as possible. And much to her chagrin, the man that had come in behind her takes the available seat next to her. She does her best to give him a pressed smile, but says nothing.

She can feel Valery's presence like the pull of a magnet as the train starts to move. Like a change in air pressure. Unseen but undeniable and omnipresent. She imagines that she can feel his eyes on her, though she prays he's not looking at her. She certainly doesn't look back at him, though she desperately wants to. There's a tension running through her posture that makes her shoulders begin to ache. She feels like she's being drawn back to him like a bowstring. Tighter and tighter as the train begins to move faster and faster out of the station. Despite the fact that she's moving forward, she feels as if she's in a backward freefall. 

As if… as if…

"So what's in Riga for you, if you don't mind my asking." Ulana's seatmate asks cheerfully, clearly unaware that his question snapped her out of her own thoughts like the crack of a whip.

"Just… just a train change." she says hoping to God she doesn't sound as dull-witted as she does in her own head.

"Oh yeah? I'm headed home myself." He pulls off his brown-rimmed glasses and gives them a quick polish. "Where to after Riga?"

"Um… Jurmala. For vacation."

"Oh that sounds lovely. I've been meaning to take my wife and girls there. Have you ever been before?"

"No… no. A friend of mine went last year and recommended it highly. I… needed a break." She smiles again and hopes it doesn't look like she's just baring her teeth.

The man puffs his cheeks and lets out a slow breath. "God, don't we all." he says conversationally, leaning against the stiff back of the bench.

She gives a tight-lipped little nod and tips her head over to rest on the windowsill. For a blessed moment it seems like her seatmate is going to let her close her eyes, but no such luck. 

In fact, what he says next is the opposite of luck.

"You look familiar." He says, peering at her over his reading spectacles.

Ulana feels like she has just swallowed a chunk of frozen lead. "Sorry?" She says.

He squints at her, pulling his glasses from his face. "You're…" He leans forward and lowers his voice, though it's still pitched with excitement. "Are you Ulana Khomyuk? From… from the Chernobyl Commission?"

_Shit._

She glances quickly around. No one seems to have marked her yet, nor does anyone seem to be listening to their conversation. She stares at him for a moment willing him to take back the question before she finally and meekly nods.

"Oh how wonderful." He says, mercifully reading her cues and keeping his voice soft. But he still puts out his hand. "Yuri Morozov. I've read about you in the paper." 

She takes his hand briefly but his handshake is enthusiastic and tight. Both hands in fact.

"I must tell my daughter that I rode back to Latvia with you. She'll be so thrilled. My eldest, Tasiya? She's eleven, and she read the article about you." Like any good father, a picture of his family is not far out of reach. He pulls out his wallet and shows Ulana a picture, which she dutifully looks at. Two children, a toddler and a young girl presumably with their mother. The eldest, which Yuri is indicating with his thumb, has dark hair and fair skin and eyes that burn bright like Svetlana's. Ulana has to swallow her guilt, thorns and all. 

"She reads so well for her age." Yuri went on thankfully still at a modest volume. "It's pinned to the wall in her room actually. That article about you? She was just so taken with your story. About the helicopters and how you figured out what to do about the melting fuel. Morbid as everyone else finds it, she reads everything the paper has to say about Chernobyl." 

"She sounds like a bright girl." Ulana opines conversationally, realizing she's clearly not getting out of this gracefully any time soon. Just so long as no one overhears... Or, God forbid, Valery...

"Some of the children in her school now are from Chernobyl. You know they moved so many of them. And would you believe it, she says the other students pick on them! Won't stand near them in line. Won't let them sit at the lunch table with them. But she won't stand for it." Yuri pauses for a fond chuckle. "Actually, she was sent home last week for punching a boy in the nose who'd been bullying one of the Chernobylites."

Ulana finds herself laughing a little at that in spite of herself. _Just like Svetlana,_ she can't help but think.

A silence settles between them, and they both fidget. "It's hard to believe people are unkind to those that come from Chernobyl." Yuri says, a little furrow working its way down his brow. "After all they've been through? After… I heard what happened to the firemen and the plant workers. They didn't publish in the papers of course, but people talk. We have relatives in Moscow, and…" He chances a glance up at Ulana and then cuts his eyes away. "Well, I don't need to tell you about it of course. You were there." He puts his wallet away mostly for want of something to do with his hands. 

"She wants to be a scientist when she grows up, my Tasiya." he goes on. "Wants to help people the way you did. I don't know what we did to deserve such a bright and kind child. Everyone says she favors me, and I suppose maybe that's where all my hair went." He sheepishly runs his hand through his thinning dark hair. "But I don't know. I come from a long line of hard working factory men. Not a scholar among them. Certainly not me."

Ulana glances up at him and tries to read his face through the haze of fear muddling her brain. He looks genuine. Excited even. And not just a little bit proud to be the father of such a smart and driven little girl. So above all else, to her he seems honest. And besides, if this man really is KGB, he's likely already pegged her for staring at Valery on the way in. So what does it matter if she speaks her mind?

"I'd say she's well on her way, Comrade." she says summoning some shred of sincerity to warm her smile. "You tell your Tasiya to study hard. To read everything and read it twice. And most importantly to surround herself with people who also work very hard and who challenge her every day. The Soviet Union will need scientists like her. I won't be around forever."

The man smiles then, bright and pleased. "I will tell her. I _will_ tell her. Oh, she'll be so thrilled. And… thank you, Comrade. For your service in the disaster."

"It was and is my pleasure to serve the Soviet Union." Ulana says, turning her head to the window. It's her rote, mechanical answer, but for once… for once there's at least some substance behind it.

Yuri is silent for the rest of the ride after that, nodding off into his newspaper before they had even cleared the city limits. 

Ulana is not so lucky however. That train ride to Riga is the longest twelve hours of her life. Time passed faster in the KGB prison than it did aboard this train. She tries to read but never manages to turn a page. She dozes, but only fitfully. She's afraid of drifting off and missing her stop in Riga, though how she would, she doesn't know. It's the end of the line for this train, so someone would come get her. But she's supposed to keep interaction to a minimum. 

So she can't sleep. And every time the train stops, Ulana feels sick as the conductor comes around checking tickets. At one stop they even brought a dog on board to sniff about. Ulana pretends to be asleep. Better than trying to school the fear from her face. 

It's nauseating. What if they've found them out? There's nowhere to run. Nowhere to go and they're both on the same traincar. And yet she can't bring herself to try and change cars. Her seatmate knows where she's going now. It would seem strange. 

And he's right _there._ Her dearest Valery is just right there, and she can't even turn to look at him. Her agitation grows in swelling waves, and she tries to calm herself with slow, measured breaths. And with those breaths, she can make herself believe that she can smell the cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes and to his hair. She wants to touch his hair. See if it's as feather soft as she remembers. She wants to hold his hands, and cradle his craggy face, and maybe just… sit with him. 

But she _can't._

So the hours creep glacially by as the world outside zips past in a gloomy, sodium-light streaked haze. And finally, with her forehead on the glass, Ulana closes her eyes. She closes her eyes but she doesn't sleep. Instead, she lets her thoughts reach out across the handful of seats to where Valery sits and she just… hopes.

Ulana was never really one for daydreaming as a girl, science books and teasing apart math problems being her favorite method of mental stimulus. But now, she hopes. And with that hope she lets herself see the future the three of them might have together, however short or however long. She lets herself create a Swedish countryside. A little house. A little garden. A little cat dozing on the stone terrace that's scattered with furniture of painted wrought iron. A rusted gate. Yellow shutters. Tea cups. Cigarettes. And some kind of sweet. Good habits and bad.

And the three of them. 

Boris is outside whenever the weather permits, paper in hand. Valery… he's always scratching at a notebook with a cat on his lap. And Ulana… she doesn't know what she'll do. She doesn't know how she'll behave there in that space. Where would she sit? How would she dress? What sort of person would she become there in that paradise? She can't know...

But with her eyes closed, she can feel the linen of a tablecloth under her hands, and the weight of old quilts. Hear the floorboards creak beneath her feet. Feel the summer sun on her face and the bite of the Scandinavian winter wind. She can smell the coffee… and the cigarettes… and the sugar… and the cat's fur… and the flowers… and…

And...

She does fall asleep eventually. It's fitful and dark, but at least marginally free of the oppression of worry that had hung over her. They're on their way now. All three of them. Falling closer together every second. And even in the cynical and crushed caverns of her heart, there is a hopeful light that cannot help but shine.

Just a little further now…

Just a little further...

***


	9. We Will Have Our Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ulana finds her way out of the train station and onto the unfamiliar streets of Riga. As she steps out into the cool night air, she closes her eyes and mentally recites Boris's instructions which she'd committed to memory. He'll take care of everything from there. Her job is just to get to him.
> 
> And to Valery.
> 
> Walk, she admonishes herself as she starts moving unconsciously at a very brisk pace, clutching her suitcase in a vice grip. Walk, don't run. This should appear to be a normal night for you. But it's so difficult with both her nerves and her anticipation fighting like snakes in her gut. She just has a little further to travel and she'll see both of them again. 
> 
> Walk.
> 
> Boris stands at the mouth of the prescribed alleyway, tucked back from the street just enough to be invisible until someone was looking directly into the narrow cleft between the buildings. He looks very much like a bird of prey, leaned against the brick with his sharp brimmed hat and heavy greatcoat. He was trying to look inconspicuous, but it's hard to look inconspicuous when you are well over six feet tall. As it stands, he just looks ominous. But to Ulana, she's never seen a more welcome sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday everyone!
> 
> Hope you all had a lovely weekend! Here is this week's chapter to hopefully put a smile on your face. 
> 
> A quick note that this chapter has a scene of gun violence. Tags have been updated appropriately. 
> 
> Thank you to my beta-readers Lucas and @kaminaduck. And to my science adviser @cactusowl. 
> 
> And thank you to all of you who have commented, left kudos, encouraged and cheered me on! We're almost there! Just one chapter and an epilogue left!
> 
> Enjoy!

Ulana awakes with a jolt, having no idea how long she's been asleep. She blinks blearily, smacking at the stale taste in her mouth as she stiffly cranes her neck to look out the window. She's relieved to see they're still moving, but they've slowed down a good deal and a thick congregation of street lights are slipping sleepily by outside. She rubs her face and does her best to smooth her hair, feeling the impression left on her forehead from the edge of the windowsill. She must look a sight.

"Good morning." Yuri says, smiling. "You're awake just in time."

"We're in Riga? Already?" she feigns confusion when what she really feels is an enormous wave of anxious nausea. _Now for the next part…_

"Near enough. They're letting us get our luggage. Would you like me to pull yours down?"

"No, no… I'll… I'll get it when I stand. It'll be awkward to hold it."

He gives a bobbing little nod. "A long vacation, I take it?" 

"Very long. And I'm very much looking forward to it."

The brakes squeal and the train lurches a little. They both put out their hands to catch themselves on the seat in front of them and exchange tense smiles. Yuri mercifully and gracefully takes that as his cue. "Well, I wish you a wonderful and restful vacation, Comrade. I can't wait to go home and tell my little girl about meeting you."

Ulana summons a weary but genuine smile as Yuri gets to his feet. "Please give her my best wishes for her future. And tell her what I said. We need bright minds like hers."

"I will. Goodbye and safe travels, Comrade."

"Goodbye, Comrade."

Yuri retrieves his luggage and moves to stand by the door. It's clear he has another train to catch and he's likely going to cut it close. As she watches him go, Ulana spares a chilled thought for the idea that she quite possibly just spent the entire train ride with a KGB agent, but it's just a passing wave of worry in the sea of anxiety she's currently awash in. What does she profit from fretting about something like that at this stage anyway? Either he'd marked her or he hadn't. Either he was an agent or he wasn't. Not much to do at this point but stick to the plan.

Ulana waits until the train stops before she stands to retrieve her own luggage. Behind her the doors open. Other people who had already been bustling about the traincar exit onto the platform. And that's when she feels it.

She feels Valery pass her. Feels the warmth of his body, or at least imagines that she does. He's inches away, and she can't even look. But she can smell the cigarettes, and feel the heat of him. But she can't look. Can't touch. Can't do anything but let him slip past her. Everything in her aches, but she forces herself to focus. She feigns struggling with her suitcase to let him get ahead of her. They aren't supposed to be anywhere near each other, and they certainly shouldn't be seen leaving the train together. So she lets him get a little distance ahead of her. 

But that doesn't staunch the little thrill of panic she feels when she emerges onto the platform and doesn't immediately see him. She's not supposed to see him though, she reminds herself. He's not supposed to be here. And she's supposed to be on her way to another train. Except she's not going to be. Because that's the plan. There's a plan and she should follow it rather than fretting. So she inhales, stretching her ribs against the barbed chains of nausea that hamper her breathing, and forces herself into action.

Ulana finds her way out of the train station and onto the unfamiliar streets of Riga. As she steps out into the cool night air, she closes her eyes and mentally recites Boris's instructions which she'd committed to memory. 

_To the left corner from the front door. Right. Then two blocks. Then left. An alley across the street._

That's all she has to do. He'll take care of everything from there. Her job is just to get to him.

And to Valery.

_Walk,_ she admonishes herself as she starts moving unconsciously at a very brisk pace, clutching her suitcase in a vice grip. _Walk, don't run. This should appear to be a normal night for you._ But it's so difficult with both her nerves and her anticipation fighting like snakes in her gut. She's almost there. Almost. She just has a little further to travel and she'll see both of them again. See Valery again... She'll be able to touch him…

_Walk._

At this hour, and once she's away from the station, the streets of Riga are all but deserted. It's a weeknight, and it's late. Ulana is not sure sure if she's grateful or not. Fewer eyes on the street to fall on her, certainly… but then again, she's easy to pick out should someone happen to be looking for her. But thankfully in either case, she doesn't have to go far.

Boris stands at the mouth of the prescribed alleyway, tucked back from the street just enough to be invisible until someone was looking directly into the narrow cleft between the buildings. He looks very much like a bird of prey, leaned against the brick with his sharp brimmed hat and heavy greatcoat. And still… like he's made of granite. He was trying to look inconspicuous, but it's hard to look inconspicuous when you are well over six feet tall. As it stands, he just looks ominous. But to Ulana, she's never seen a more welcome sight.

When Boris sees her he turns and disappears into the darkness of the alley and Ulana follows him, keeping her eyes straight ahead. A turn of a corner later and she finds both of them standing by their car, and the sight roots her feet for a second. 

There they both stand. Boris and Valery. Her Borja and her Valera. Just… right there. Right there waiting for her.

She does run now.

She breaks out into a dead sprint, at least as much as her heels and skirt will allow, and she lets her bag fall to the ground as she crashes into Valery. The warmth and the scent of him surround her… cigarettes, coffee, paper and dust... and she breathes it all in like incense. Upon squeezing him she can tell he's smaller… thinner… and that makes that old protective instinct swell to life within her. She kisses his cheeks. And he kisses her hands. She cradles his face, pressing his forehead to hers. For all her longing to see him, she can't even look at him for the tears that prick her eyes. Their mouths move but neither of them have words. There are no words. Just a massive expenditure of relief so profound it's shocking that it doesn't illuminate the air around them.

They kiss and touch, and press hands and faces until they hear Boris open the car door and they both turn.

"We have to move." he says, almost as if he hates saying it. There's a fondness in his eyes and in his voice, even as he nods his head urgently toward the car. He's already loaded her bag, clearly anxious to get a move on. 

It's hard for Ulana to pry herself out of Valery's arms, but he's right. They can't linger. Not here.

"Both of you in the back." he instructs as they file into the backseat. "Sit in the floor where you won't be seen. At least until we can get out of the city."

For a moment, Ulana wishes she could have seen their reunion. Did they kiss sweetly as they did in the courtyard of the hotel years ago? Or was it frantic and grasping as she had been? Maybe they hadn't risked it at all. She had been stupid to spare time for kisses when they were on the run. But she hadn't been able to help herself. Even now, it wasn't enough. He would never be close enough to her again after this.

Ulana and Valery fold themselves rather tightly into the floorboard of the car and Boris pulls himself into the driver's seat. And for a moment they're all rather spellbound. Is this really happening? Are they about to truly make a break for it? Defect from the Soviet Union? Really?

But Ulana and Valery lock eyes across their shadowy hiding place, and he reaches for her hand. When she gives it he tugs her to him until he can kiss her knuckles and press her palm against his chest. She can feel his pulse jumping there. And suddenly, inexplicably and almost heinously, she wants to dig her fingers in. As if she can contain his pulse… his heartbeat… _him._ Dig him out and protect him.

Though that's essentially what had been done.

They'd dug him out. Gathered him between them. And they were making a run for it with their treasure. 

"Let's go." Valery says. It's the first words Ulana has heard in his sweetly rough voice in months and she thinks her heart might burst. He reaches up to squeeze Boris's shoulder too. "Let's go."

They drive in silence, the streets of Riga twisting around them. All are still clearly reeling at the reality of what they're doing. But finally, the silence is broken. 

"Are you both alright?" Boris asks, not taking his eyes off the road. "Everything went smoothly?"

Ulana cuts her eyes to Valery who nods.

"Yes." she says. "No problems. Save that the train was full, so Valery and I were on the same train car. But there was nothing to be done."

"You didn't speak to each other?"

"No."

"Good." Boris grunts. "Did you speak to anyone?"

"No." Valery replies first this time.

"My seatmate recognized me." Ulana admits with a pull of her mouth.

"Is that why he was talking to you?" Valery asks, sitting forward a little.

"Yes. But I don't think anyone overheard us." she says. "He did most of the talking."

There iss a laden silence as Ulana and Valery exchange nervous glances. Boris just keeps driving, though he's clearly turning the situation over in his magnificent pragmatist's brain. And truly, watching him think is comforting.This was his show now. Ulana had done her part. Everyone had done their part...

"I take it your assistant turned us down." Boris says, as if somehow reading her mind.

"Yes. She decided to stay behind." Ulana replies, dropping her eyes to the top of her skirt where it's folded over her knees.

"Your assistant?" Valery asks with a pucker of his brow.

"Yes. Her name… I suppose there's no harm in it now… is Svetlana Ivanoshova. She's-"

"The one who delivered the dissertation. The one with the code." Valery finishes, his eyes flying wide. "Pretty girl. Short reddish hair?"

Ulana nods with a regretful smile that kept her eyes in her lap. "That's her."

"Did she know?"

Ulana nods again, still not looking at him. "She knew."

"Why did you tell her?" Boris asks over his shoulder. "I never understood."

Ulana miserably shakes her head. "She came to me with a newspaper several months ago. Maybe you saw it? The one that gave me, of all people, credit for the plan with the helicopters and the sand. And… she got excited. Her mentor, the hero of Chernobyl. And I just… didn't have the heart to let her believe something that wasn't true. Not about me at least. So I told her the story. The true story."

"You didn't tell her… about the reactor." Valery asks warily. "What was really wrong with it? With all of them"

"Oh God, no." She says. "I refused to tell her, and I told her why you were punished, and I told her not to go looking for answers."

"And… you think she'll heed your advice?"

Ulana gave a weaving, considering little bob of her head. "I think so." she finally says.

"Good." Boris interjects.

"But you couldn't get her to come with you?" Valery asks with a tilt of his head.

Ulana shakes her head yet again. "I tried. I begged her. But she wanted to stay. She said she knew that Chernobyl wasn't the only subject where Soviet scientists were being silenced. And she said she knew her moment would come to do what you did, Valery. So she stayed."

"Foolish young woman." Boris grunts.

"Or brave." Valery opines, his eyes falling softly on Ulana.

"Is there really any difference?" she counters, earning herself a smile in the rear view mirror from Boris and a kiss on her palm from Valery.

"How did this even come about?" Valery asks, a wonderfully amused smile pulling at his mouth. "Why are we going to Sweden of all places?"

"That would be my doing." Boris answers. "I had to go to Vienna in your place this year."

"Yes, I saw that. So, that really happened then?"

Boris gives an indignant snort. "You and the alley cat back there." he grumbles. "What, you don't think I can give a lecture on the liquidation of Chernobyl well enough to satisfy a bunch of eggheaded scientists just because I can never out-think you two?"

"No, don't be stupid." Valery says, reaching up to clap him on the shoulder. "I just thought it might be more propaganda." Boris catches his hand and holds it there a moment. Long enough for the heat of his skin to penetrate the heavy wool of Boris's greatcoat, before releasing him and returning his own hand to the wheel.

God, they were all so close now. So close, and yet it still feels like a million miles. It would until they could be together. Until they could stop running. Until they could do more than just these little touches. Little gestures. But it was enough for now.

"I met a Swedish scientist there." Boris goes on, eyes still on the road. "They have been having problems with radiation. Worse than any other western country. Something about the weather patterns. There are parts of Sweden's coast that are almost completely uninhabitable. Wildlife is suffering… It's like they have their very own exclusion zone. They were in Vienna looking for help. Specifically, they were hoping to find you. And they got me instead."

"So they what… cut a deal with you?"

"No. I cut a deal with them. What they wanted was you. My deal was all three of us. All three of us coming to Sweden to work on their contamination problems."

"Did you tell them we're dying?" Valery asks.

"I did." Boris answers. "It didn't seem to matter. Made my contact very upset actually. And strangely more agreeable. He couldn't believe that in Chernobyl we… ah nevermind. They'll have doctors for us. They'll... see to us."

Valery had worked his hand up to grasp his shoulder again, gripping tight. "Thank you, Borja."

Boris reaches over to cover Valery's fingers with his own, threading between them this time and holding fast. "Don't thank me, Valera. We aren't out of the woods yet."

***

As it turns out, Boris's turn of phrase was right on the nose. The woods really were just beginning and in the most unexpectedly literal sense. They abandon their vehicle far off the heavily wooded road in a deep thicket of brush where it would be less likely to be spotted by passing cars. Trees stretch out around them in all directions. And it's dark. Very dark, thoughthankfully the moon is nearly full. But that doesn't make the task of wandering off into the woods any less daunting. Especially for two people more used to the concrete jungles of Minsk and Moscow than anything so organic as this. Ulana can't speak for Valery, but the wildest place she's walked in the last ten years is the botanical garden in Moscow.

"So the plan is this." Boris says, stepping out of the car and opening the door for Valery and Ulana. They both unfold stiffly from their hiding places to stretch and wobble over the uneven ground like newborn colts. "We change shoes, coats, what have you, and then we're going to walk. About a mile due north of here is a line of old railroad tracks. It leads to a pier that's been largely abandoned. We are likely going to be walking all night, so I trust you slept on the train."

Ulana exchanges a frown with Valery but they both nod in unison. There's something in the cadence of their friend's voice. In the way he squares his massive shoulders. Something… something is different, but they say nothing. If Boris has a plan then he has a plan. This is his part of their escape after all.

"I know it must feel somewhat safer out here than in the cities, but I assure you that as long as we stand on Soviet soil we are still in danger." Boris continues on in his strange sort of muscled tone as he pops the trunk and begins rooting around in their luggage. "If we've been made by the KGB, now is when they are likeliest to strike. No witnesses. No need to move bodies."

Valery and Ulana trade anxious glances. There's a frightening sort of practicality to Boris now. And their glance confirms that neither of them have ever seen it before. Not even Valery. Not even when he was ordering men to their deaths by the thousands or shouting down officials in the Kremlin. It's confusing. It's even a little frightening, but they come to understand what's happening when Boris turns around, and in one hand he has a long rifle and in the other a jet black pistol.

His compatriots blink slowly as they take him in. The incongruity of it. The strangeness. He's still in his familiar greatcoat and fitted black gloves. With his silver hair and heavy brow. But as imposing as he is, he's still Boris. Their Boris. It's unnerving to see weapons in the hands of the person who fed them sweets and bedded them both with such reverent care.

"Finnish souvenirs from the Winter War." Boris says when he sees their stunned expressions. "I was a decorated marksman, and if we were followed out of Riga, you'll hope I'm still a good shot."

"Boris…" The name is all the eloquence Valery needs.

"It's alright, Valera." Boris says, propping the rifle against the bumper of the car so he can cup Valery's cheek in his gloved hand. "It's going to be alright. But we need to move. Will you take the pistol?" 

He held out the butt of the weapon but Valery just stares at it, hands still by his sides. "I've never shot a gun before, Boris." he says, his voice impossibly small.

"My eyes can't be everywhere, Valera. There are likely to be more of them than us." 

"I'll take it." Ulana pipes up as she finishes tugging on her shoes. The ones she'd brought that were more suitable for walking.

"Have _you_ ever fired a gun before?" Boris asks with an arch of one thick eyebrow.

"Yes." she answers.

"Yes?" His voice draws thin with surprise.

"I killed a Nazi soldier with my father's pistol when I was nine." She says, staring back at him with matching fortitude.

Boris blinks at that. In fact, he blinks twice. "You killed a man at nine, Ulya?"

"I killed a Nazi at nine." she corrects, holding out her own now gloved hand. 

Boris nods, letting a little of the steel in her demeanor infect him and, without further argument, he passes her the weapon. "It's loaded and there is a round chambered. Keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to shoot. Keep it aimed at the ground unless you see something you might want to shoot. And then it's arm straight and this one underneath," He gently manipulates her hands and arms into position, pointing the gun off into the trees. "Look right down the barrel. Squeeze the trigger. Don't pull it back or you'll throw off your aim."

"Alright." she says, feeling as he takes his hands away the heft of the weapon settling into her palm and the press of something far heavier settling into her shoulders. Especially when she watches Boris shoulder his rifle.

"Stay between us, Valera." Boris says, passing him a small satchel, which she presumes to hold some sort of provisions. Water and the like. "This way."

And so they start walking, single file through the swaying pine trees. Boris marches in front and Ulana tails behind with Valery nervously shuffling along between them. They walk and they walk, through what begins to feel like an endless expanse of unchanging forest. Trees appear ahead of them in the darkness only to fade away behind them in the weak moonlight. And every snap of a twig. Every rustle of breeze. Every single noise… even their own breathing sometimes makes them all jump and turn. But through it all, their feet never stop moving. 

Eventually they do find the railroad tracks, a clear metal scar cutting through the thick cover of swaying pines. 

"We'll rest here." Boris says, stopping them perhaps twenty meters back, still safely concealed in the striated shadows of the trees. "There's still a ways to go yet."

Ulana nods as they tuck themselves into the cover of a particularly large pine tree. Boris reaches into the satchel which now occupies Valery's lap as he leans on the tree, and pulls out a canteen of water. They pass it around, but Ulana's eyes never leave the ghostly outlines of the trees.

At least until they stray to the gun in her hand. It's an incongruous sight. Her fingers had never lifted anything more deadly than a sample knife, save to blow the guts out of a Nazi. Now they were wrapped around the butt of a military issue pistol. One Boris had probably used to kill decades ago in the forest of Finland… They had both seen their share of violence. She hadn't thought about that… hadn't realized...

Valery begins to cough, and she lets her eyes slide back to see Boris passing him his handkerchief. Perhaps the pistol in her hand had last been used in a situation much like this… Boris defending his comrades in arms. Boris standing guard. Boris… always in the line of fire...

It had been so long ago. And they were so far from it now. So far that even the sight of Boris with his rifle across his back is strange to her. She'd never known Boris the Soldier. Even though she knew his history. She'd touched the bullet wound in his shoulder. And yet she still forgot… 

She forgot until the spectre of that purpose invades her now. Until she is standing in its presence as she is now. Until she _sees_ with her own eyes…

Until she sees...

Movement...

There's movement at the corner of her eye and she turns back to the trees. There's a glint. Like glass. Or metal. Eyeglasses perhaps? Or-

_Shit._

"Boris, move him NOW!" She shouts, her voice rending the rustling air seconds before there is the piercing crack of gunfire. There is a sound of splintering wood and she can't stop herself from looking back. There is a pale patch of wood on the tree where the bullet stripped the bark away exactly level with Valery's eyes. Boris had dragged him to the side of the tree just in time, and now he is struggling to shelter him behind it.

"Get to cover!" Boris thunders as he swings his rifle off his back and crouches on one knee over Valery. 

There's another hail of bullets, and they skitter off the ground and the trees making all three of them cower in place.

"Did you see how many?" Boris calls.

Ulana dares a peek. "I see at least two."

"Well, I didn't hand you the pistol for looks, Ulana." He barks with unique sort of maliceless fury. "Return fire, damn it!"

And she does. Without thinking. She flattens one shoulder to the tree, cups the pistol and looks down the barrel just as Boris showed her. She can see a smudge moving in the dark and she squeezes off a shot. It only glances off a tree, but the gunman hiding behind it flinches as the splinters spray over him. And she lets the near hit fuel her as she fires twice more, driving the agent deeper into cover.

Another crack rips through the air, louder and closer this time, and Ulana looks over to see Boris staring steel-eyed down the sights of his rifle. And far off in the trees there's a choking yelp in reply. He's hit one of them, but he doesn't let up. He fires twice more, his reprisal only evident in the issuing smoke and noise. He's still. Utterly still. Like a statue. Legs planted and eyes forward. And there's a fury burning there that steals Ulana's breath.

And Valery is staring up at him too. Staring at both of them from his hiding place in the cleft of the tree. He looks both amazed and a little horrified. Not at the violence. No, not that. He doesn't care if they mow down a dozen KGB agents. But that… it seems like in that moment one fact finally slides home. In the middle of a gunfight, he has a beautiful realization.

They came for him.

It took them the better part of a year and a half, but they came for him. With plans. With lives. With weapons. And with no small amount of bravery. They came to get him out of the pit of Hell that the KGB had sent him to rot in. 

"It's alright, Valera." Ulana hears herself say, when she sees him staring at her with petrified wonder. There's a tenderness in her voice incongruous to the weapon held tightly in her hand. "We're going to get you out of here." And she knows she's promising him as much as herself.

One agent tries to move up for a clearer shot, and Boris shoots but his bullet skitters off course with another spray of tree bark. But Ulana catches the advancing agent in the knee, sending him to the ground with a pained scream. The sound should bother her, she catches herself thinking distantly, but it doesn't. The only sight that bothers her is the look of terrified anguish on Valery's face. More than anything, it makes her want to finish this quickly. To deal with these toadies and get moving again.

The wounded man on the ground scrabbles for his gun despite his injured leg, but that's a shot Ulana knows she can make easily even as untrained as she is. And she does. Almost on reflex. A squeeze of the trigger, a pop of gunpowder and a fine spray of blood. 

That leaves one more agent, who fires multiple times in rapid succession, bullets whizzing dangerously close to Boris and Valery's hiding place and forcing them to crouch low in the shadow of the tree. But when the shooting subsides, Boris raises the rifle again and with a glacial look in his eye, he lines up the sights and fires.

There isn't a scream this time. Just a wet, gurgling squelch of air failing to pass a ruined throat and a soft thump as his body falls to the ground.

Then… silence.

"Is that all of them?" Ulana asks, lowering her weapon. "I only saw three but-"

"That was all I saw." Boris says, leaning his shoulder trying to catch his breath through the adrenaline welling up. "I wanted to rest, but we should keep moving. Are you alright?" he's looking down to Valery who is still huddled against the tree.

"Boris?" he says softly, reaching for his hand. There is so much hung on his name, it weighs on Boris's heart.

He pulls him gently to his feet and into the shelter of his greatcoat. "I'm sorry, Valera." he says cradling him gently with one arm, his other hand shouldering his rifle. He looks to Ulana as she slinks from her hiding place to join them. "Are you alright?"

She gives a tight little nod. "I'm fine."

Boris's eyes narrow, but not unkindly. "You just killed a man, Ulya."

"And I would again." She says, the words coming out slowly as if she needs to taste them for the truth before speaking them. This was a Soviet. Not a Nazi. But it is the truth nonetheless. It was still a man standing between her and her family, though she hadn't really thought of it in those terms until now... And so she adds, "It's what needed to be done."

Boris gives her a strangely appraising look and then nods. "We should move." He says and Ulana bobs her head in agreement. "We'll follow the tracks, but we won't get close to them. It's too open. Are you alright, Valera?"

Valery looks up at him from the shadow of his coat, hair mussed and face impossibly pale in the moonlight. He nods rather faintly. "Boris…" is all he manages again.

"I know." Boris says, dropping a kiss onto his clammy forehead as he extends one hand towards Ulana. "Pass me your pistol and I'll reload it as we walk."

Mercifully, the rest of their journey is uneventful and not harried any further by the KGB. The sky turns gray, and eventually they can smell the salt air of the Gulf of Riga before they see it. The soil turns sandy under their sore feet, and the trees thin out until the trio crests a grassy hill and suddenly the beach and the slate gray sea stretches out before them. 

Just down the beach, a little pier juts out into the choppy water.

And at the end of it… a boat.

They pause at the top of that hill and exchange winded and bewilderingly mirthful smiles. They'd made it.

It's hard not to run down the dunes to the pier, but they don't want to stumble in the sand. None of them had dressed for a day at the beach, and it wouldn't do to turn an ankle at this point. A man in a Soviet Navy uniform awaits them at the edge of the pier, hands clasped behind him.

"Lovely morning for April, isn't it, Comrade?" He says, his tone just a tad too flat to be taken as a genuine greeting.

"True, but I will miss the snow." Boris replies just as formally.

Ulana and Valery both blink at the exchange.

"Is this everyone?" the officer asks after giving him a curt nod and a cursory glance to the two of them.

"Yes, this is everyone."

"Excellent. Come aboard." he extends his hand and they follow after him to the vessel bobbing like a cork at the end of the dock.

They climb onto the deck, all of them stumbling a little as the boat rocks slightly beneath their tired feet. The wind that had stirred the pines during their escape was churning the water as well. The crew are already working to cast off, and below them they can hear the engine roaring to life. As the captain begins barking orders, Boris takes each of them by the hand and pulls them to the stern of the ship out of the way of the men working to see them off.

At last, with a lurching mechanical chug from below deck, their little craft swings away from the shore. And just as they do, a sliver of rosy sunlight slips over the edge of the horizon. It's going to be an overcast day along the coast. Probably very rainy, and the trio count themselves lucky to have not had to walk in it. But at the seam of the horizon, it seems the clouds are thin enough to let a little bit of the sunrise peek through, and as it does, the whole world blushes before their eyes. Rolling hills of spiky evergreens kissed with the dawn… 

Their home. The last they'll ever see of it, viewed as if through the proverbial rose colored glasses. And they all realize together that they have no idea what sort of life awaits them on the other side of the sea. They're going to a strange place. They're going to the maligned and magnificent West. What will they be there? What will they do?

Who will they be?

There is only one sure thing they understand with their next tandem breath of the salt air. The one that they take in tandem as Boris hugs them close. As Ulana buries her face in Boris's greatcoat. As Valery tangles his hand with Ulana's against Boris's shirtfront. 

They will be together. And that's all they've ever wanted.

"Borja?" Valery's voice drifts up from the shadows between them.

Boris looks down, his heavy features all tenderness in the light of dawn. Valery's never seen him like this, he realizes. He's never seen him in the morning. He's never seen what either of them look like at daybreak. Only at night. Only in the dark. They were beautiful then, and they are beautiful now. They are beautiful and they are his, just as he is theirs.

And for a moment he forgets everything. Forgets what he was going to ask… forgets everything except for the wave of sensation and emotion washing over him at that very moment…

They came for him. They saved him. And they were going to be together. This was the first of many dawns they might share together...

"Did you want something, Valera?" Boris asks tenderly as a smile creases the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes.

"Is there any way to get a message to Ulana's assistant?" he asks, his mind finally jumpstarting itself. "The one who stayed behind?"

Boris pauses a moment before he answers. "I think so. I stipulated that I had a few people I wanted watched. People the KGB might come calling on. I could perhaps find a way to get a message to her."

Valery nods, clearly satisfied for the moment, and his eyes look back out over the gray sea with its pink tinged waves. "I have a gift for her. Something I left behind…"

He starts coughing then, pressing Boris's handkerchief to his mouth, and Boris's arms tighten around both of them. "Alright." He soothes. "Whatever you need I'll see to it once we land. Come. Let's find a place to settle in below. It will be a long time before we make landfall."

They find a cabin below deck in the crew quarters, all three piling into the rather cramped space without comment or complaint. After their escape by train and through a forest. A gunfight… nothing seems too strange or bizarre or uncomfortable. Boris takes the wall of the narrow bed, cramming his hulking frame into the corner, and the other two follow after. Valery leans back on his chest, and Ulana curls against Valery and tucks herself under Boris's arm. It takes a little scooching and shifting, but eventually they settle and breathe a deep, relieved, and exhausted sigh together that makes them all nearly laugh. 

They don't talk. There's nothing to say. No way to give voice to what's just happened. What they fear is coming. What they want… there's not enough words or enough time, so they let the silence speak its volumes.

Boris reaches out and grabs his greatcoat where he'd slung it over a crate, tugging it like a blanket up over all three of them. Valery is asleep before he even gets it properly adjusted, and Ulana is the one that reaches up to remove his glasses for him, tucking them in Boris's shirt pocket for safe keeping. And then she settles once more, fingers curled loosely around the collar of the greatcoat, as if its protective embrace might be stolen away.

And Boris… he just breathes. 

Breathes and realizes that they only ever had this in their fantasies. Fantasies never even voiced or fully envisioned. They never ever _slept_ in the same place like this. Not all three of them, save that once when they'd first gotten their suite in the Polissia. And even then… there was tension. There was reticence. There was fear. They only barely dozed because it could only be for a moment. 

But now... 

Now… even though there was ignorance of the future. Anxiety at what was to come. Uncertainty about everything...

There _was_ a future.

And there was no fear. Not anymore. Because they had each other, and if Chernobyl had taught them anything, it was that being together was all that had ever really mattered.

***


	10. That Which Returns to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in the Soviet Union, it would have been warm outside in late May. Especially in Minsk. It would have been nearly summer by now in fact. But in eastern Sweden, while it appeared to be nearly summer, with the hills dressed in green grass and flowers, there was still a bite to the wind that zipped across the countryside. And last week it had snowed, bowing the wildflowers under an early veil of fluffy white! But only for a day or so. 
> 
> It was one of the many many things that was different in Sweden. The days were different, growing progressively longer until for a few weeks, the trio had been told, the sun wouldn't set at all. The grocery stores were different here as well, with choices upon choices to make. There was sugar by the sackful, but then what kind of sugar? Interacting with colleagues and coworkers was also an adjustment, language barrier notwithstanding. Titles and the eschewing of them was completely different and antithetical to the way they'd all been raised. 
> 
> Life in the West was definitely an adjustment for the three of them.
> 
> But even in spite of it, it was quickly decided by tacit agreement that none of them belonged anywhere else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy...
> 
> *checks calendar*
> 
> Almost-Wednesday everyone!
> 
> My deepest apologies for this chapter being late. I'm helping with a theatre production, and what was supposed to be a simple design/choreography task ended up with me getting sucked into set build and dressing. This is what happens when you're dating the scenic designer I guess... :) But thank you all for your patience. 
> 
> So here we are... the last full chapter. There's an epilogue after this that wraps up one last loose end but after that, that's all! 
> 
> Thank you to my beta readers @kaminaduck and Lucas. And a big thank you to my advisers @cactusowl and @jedikatalina. You guys really made this fic sparkle.
> 
> And thank you all for your patience and for your faithful reading week to week. I can't tell you how much I appreciate all the feedback I've been seeing.
> 
> Let's get to the fic, shall we? Y'all have waited long enough.

**May 26, 1988**

Back in the Soviet Union, it would have been warm outside in late May. Especially in Minsk. It would have been nearly summer by now in fact. But in eastern Sweden, while it appeared to be nearly summer, with the hills dressed in green grass and flowers, there was still a bite to the wind that zipped across the countryside. And last week it had snowed, bowing the wildflowers under an early veil of fluffy white! But only for a day or so. They perked back up happy as could be when the sun showed its face again.

It was one of the many many things that was different in Sweden. The days were different, growing progressively longer until for a few weeks, the trio had been told, the sun wouldn't set at all. The grocery stores were different here as well, with choices upon choices to make. There was sugar by the sackful, but then what _kind_ of sugar? Interacting with colleagues and coworkers was also an adjustment, language barrier notwithstanding. Titles and the eschewing of them was completely different and antithetical to the way they'd all been raised. 

Life in the West was definitely an adjustment for the three of them.

But even in spite of it, it was quickly decided by tacit agreement that none of them belonged anywhere else. They settled into their new life with gusto rather than reticence, feeling sometimes like they were on the set of a movie, acting the parts of Soviet transplants. And enjoying it as much as those transplants on screen seemed to. Boris would read the paper. Ulana walked in the garden, even on cold mornings. And Valery was endlessly scratching in his notebook. Working… always working. Always working on the problem they'd been sent there to solve.

But there was joy in it now. Or… not joy, exactly. But a pleasant sense of duty. Of release. There were no secrets to cover up here. No KGB to dodge. Facts were facts, and the truth was the truth, and there was no suppressing it. There was no second guessing it. No turning a blind eye.

And the Swedes had welcomed them with surprising warmth. First to work on the problem of the radiation still spreading from Chernobyl. Then, plans were underway for cleanup, their attention had been turned to Sweden's own reactors, their expertise was garnered for containment and policy restrictions should a similar disaster befall the Swedes. And it seemed in the very near future, with the current situation was firmly in hand, the three of them might be asked to consult on safety and regulation not only of Sweden's existing reactors, but the construction of new ones as well.

It was an exciting prospect. Especially for Ulana. This was her area of expertise after all.

The trio was rewarded well for their efforts. Generous stipends. A car. Access to the best healthcare Sweden had to offer. And a sizeable cottage in the countryside near the tiny town of Hudiksvall. A terrace and a garden. A huge kitchen. And green in every direction. 

It was something like paradise. Different from their lives in the Soviet Union. Those lives they'd lived but never really questioned. But for all the differences… for all the strangeness… for the new language and new people and new work… they were together, and that was what made this strange ground beneath their feet paradise.

They revelled in their new home and, despite the chill that lingered, all three of them could be found outside whenever the weather permitted. They nearly always drank their coffee on the terrace in the mornings now, even if their breath still steamed in the frosty air. At first it had just been Ulana with the coffee, but she won Boris and Valery over to her favorite indulgence in time. Boris teased her for it, saying that the excesses of the West had already infected her, but all she had to do was point out that he came home with a new kind of candy after every trip into town and that was the end of the argument.

And it hadn't taken long before there were three mousing cats running about the garden terrace. It had been inevitable. Boris looked on them disdainfully at first, but Valery doted on them and the three furry princesses purred and pawed their way inside both the house and all three of their hearts within days of their arrival. Even Boris's, who had called them filthy little beasts for the first week, grumbling that he was going to run them out of the house. But then Valery named them, and that had quite certainly been that. 

Katya, Nina, and Masha. 

Because of course he had. He'd smiled impishly when he'd done it too, and that's how Boris knew he was stuck with the little creatures. But despite his endless griping about them, Ulana would catch him tearing off bits of sausage or whatever he was eating and feeding them under the table, and always pausing to give them a scratch when they came bumping against his shins.

"Can you believe it's been a month?" Ulana had asked one evening as they sat at the table on the terrace, each of them with a mug of tea to fight off the persistent chill. And Boris with a plate of strangely spiced meringues, of course. His latest culinary adventure from town. He was forever buying anything that vaguely resembled a treat just to try it. Ulana was wrapped up with a shawl, her mug cupped in her palms to keep her fingers warm. And Valery with a cigarette between his fingers as he scratched at yet more equations. All the comforts of home. 

Their home.

"I was just noticing that the other day when we were up at Forsmark." Boris replies. "Doesn't seem like it's been that long to me."

"Have you heard any news from back home?" Valery asks, looking up over his notebook.

"Nothing noteworthy." Boris answers with a casual shrug. But he marks the purse of Valery's lips at his reply. "What?"

He gives a small shake of his ginger head, returning to his work. "I just worry about Svetlana is all."

"She's still at her assistantship in Minsk." Boris tells him, reaching over to pat him on the arm as he rises to his feet. "She's changed labs of course."

"To what?" Valery asks.

"She's working with Dmitri. Your old assistant. They just recently went public with a paper on… something to do with start up instability in larger reactor cores." Boris replies, slowly walking the perimeter of the terrace before easing up behind Valery again.

"She's switched studying nuclear reactors." Valery says, mostly to himself and to Ulana. "So I guess she got my message."

"I would be willing to take that bet." Ulana replies with a fond smile. "She's working with Dmitri, you say? Oh, those two will be a pair."

Valery's brow still puckers in concern. "It's still dangerous for her. She's playing with fire by studying reactors. Someone's bound to notice… the wrong someones, I mean..."

"That was her decision." she says, taking a long drink from her teacup. 

"I still marvel at it." Valery opines as he rather aggressively stubs out his cigarette. "All this work and danger for a scant few years together? And a lifetime looking over her shoulder..."

"If I knew it would only be a few minutes, it would be worth it, Valera." Boris replies, his huge hands hugging down on Valery's shoulders.

"But Svetlana…"

"Not a day goes by that I don't worry about her. But… she made her decision." Ulana says again, the words even more firm and resolute this time. "Just as you made your decision. Ultimately, I could influence neither one of you."

Valery smiles then, "I eventually did what you wanted."

"Not because I asked you to." Ulana replies, kicking him gently under the table.

He shakes his head, reaching up to cover Boris's hands with his own. He's still getting used to this. Being able to just… touch either one of them whenever he wants. That's the true paradise of this place. He can just... hold Boris's hand, if he wants to. It's the simplest thing in the world. And he can touch Ulana's hair. Kiss them and hold them and…

If it cost Svetlana anything to give him this pleasure, he would never ever forgive himself. And yet, if he could buy it for her in the same way… or for Boris or for Ulana… He knows what he would do.

"I wish I could have met her." he says with a fond sort of somberness. "Really met her."

"She was so interested in you. Both of you." Ulana says, a smile pulling at her mouth. "She was like a little girl asking for bedtime stories, except instead of heroes and monsters it was scientists and radioactive isotopes."

"What all did you tell her?" Boris asks.

"Oh everything… She wanted to know about everything. She… she would bring me the newspaper whenever they would run stories about Chernobyl. And I would go through the article and correct it with a red pen, and then over lunch I would tell her the story the way it actually happened. The helicopters. And the divers. How the sand and boron was your idea and not mine."

"A terrible idea." Valery laughs, looking rather comedic himself as he lights two cigarettes at once, passing one to Ulana. "You said so yourself."

"I only meant to make sure you knew the consequences of what you were doing. I didn't think it was a poor decision." She replies, taking the smoke from his fingers.

"What else were we to do?" Boris replies. "You said yourself that there was no other way."

Valery lifts one shoulder and blows a plume of smoke towards the slowly darkening sky, but says nothing.

"I'm sure you had nothing kind to say about me." Boris says, turning back to Ulana with a twinkle in his eye.

"I told her you were a stubborn old bull." Ulana answers with a lift of her chin. "And that we argued all the time. But… that your stubbornness and your gift with people was what let us succeed."

"Am I really that stubborn?" He asks Valery with an arch of his eyebrow.

And Valery smiles up at him looking impossibly younger in the thinning light. "No more than her."

Ulana blows a puff of smoke through her nose like a dragon as Boris leans down to steal a kiss from Valery's upturned mouth. She watches them with unabashed interest and unbridled want. She loves to see them so sweet like this. Boris being indulgent and Valery so open. It tugs at something in her. Or more, the sight always pulls her tight between something. Between the desire to watch and the desire to join. Just as it had back in the Polissia Hotel, watching fills her with something. Fills her with that same sweetly protective instinct… not of them as people but of what they have. Of what they might be together.

But she also feels the pull to join them too. It makes her skin pleasantly prickle and itch.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Ulya?" Boris asks, eyeing her with a winsome and wicked smile.

She'd been staring, she realizes. No point in playing it off. Not now that they'd noticed. And why would she anyway? She takes a long, lung-stretching drag off her cigarette and lets the smoke trail from her lips. "Why wouldn't I be?" she says with a smile.

"Because you're stuck here with the two of us. And you find me insufferable and him infuriating." He stops to kiss Valery on the temple.

"Mmm." She hums, crushing out her cigarette and standing to join them. "And you both find me brutally stubborn. What's to be done?"

"Your words, not mine, love." Valery says, his pale blue eyes glittering. 

She doesn't argue. Instead, she hooks her fingers in the collar of Boris's shirt and pulls his mouth down to hers. She can taste the cookies he'd been eating on his tongue, even over the smoke that lingers in her mouth. And for his own part, he seems to be trying to lick the flavor of it from her. Never restrained, her Borja. Not with her. Not with either of them.

Her hand falls to rest on Valery's shoulder, her fingers finding his suspenders and following them down his chest. He pushes into her touch, following and chasing her hand as she lightly brushes his nipple through his shirt. That has his hand on her wrist, letting him kiss his way up her forearm.

And just like that their passion catches fire like a struck match. That was all it ever took. A teasing remark. A kiss. A touch. And suddenly they burned together. 

They're too old for such silliness. For such wantonness. None of them had ever been so unbridled, not even when they had been of the age to be so. But now… with no one watching and no one to care, they're giddy with it. They'd never had the chance to be so uninhibited when they were young. Especially Valery. So they seize the opportunity, and each other, with both hands.

"Upstairs, both of you." Boris says, prodding them gently.

"You're eager." Ulana teases, arching an eyebrow at Valery.

"I woke up hard as a rock this morning, but you were both already out of bed." Boris complains.

"Oh darling, then you shouldn't sleep in." Ulana chids, playfully.

Her only answer is a frustrated growl and a soft pop across her ass as he pushes at them both again. They disengage but hardly travel far, fingers and lips still catching like strands of pulling taffy.

Boris leads the two of them up to the master suite, which was technically his room. They'd set up rooms for each of them for the sake of appearances at least as far as their hosts were concerned. Valery had an office with a small bed, and Ulana had taken the other smaller bedroom. It made sense that the largest room with the largest bed went to all six feet of Boris. And more often than not they all slept together in there anyway. The bed was massive and they all fit comfortably. Certainly more so than that tiny bed that they'd first shared in the Polissia.

"What had you in such a state this morning Borja?" Valery asks, teasing one finger up the front of his shirt.

"I woke up and you weren't there." he bites back playfully. "Leaves a man frustrated."

"And we're just supposed to be at your beck and call?" Ulana says with provocative indignation, perching herself on the edge of the bed.

"Well of course? What did I rescue you for if not for this?" Boris replies.

Valery laughs then. Really laughs. Not just a chuckle, but a laugh that shook his whole frame. It was still a rare sound. Rarer than a smile, which was not saying so much anymore. But he was not given over to laughter often. "And what would you have had us doing if we had been there, Borja?" he teases, inching closer to watch Boris's frame strain to keep from seeming desperate. The man still had his daminable pride, and it was one of life's great joys for Valery to push him to his breaking point.

"Mm… so much, Valera." Boris half growls the reply as he covers Valery's mouth with his own.

It had been weeks since they'd moved into the house, and Ulana was finally growing accustomed to watching the two of them and not feeling awkward about it. It was a thing as enjoyable to her as being kissed herself. They were beautiful together. Boris's massive frame crowded down over Valery's even as he rose to meet him. It's a perfect dance. They'd all learned how to meet and match each other.

"Show me, Borja." Valery whispers against Boris's mouth.

Boris needs no further encouragement. His fingers slip beneath Valery's suspenders and he pushes them off his shoulders with a practiced flick of his wrist. Valery sucks in a hushed, lusty breath as Ulana finally stands to join them, her hands sliding up Valery's back, fingers digging into the fabric and sending him leaning into her touch. But Boris, with a teasing sort of jealousy, tugs at his belt loops, pulling their hips flush together and regaining his attention. Valery can feel the growing hardness between them. Both of them. It never takes long, especially if Boris is frustrated.

And he can tell that he is quite frustrated as soon as Boris's lips find his again. Valery feels like he's being consumed from the mouth down as his clothes are flayed from him. Boris's hands are tugging at his shirt tails as Ulana turns him back to kiss her. He melts over her, one hand coming up to caress the side of her face as the other holds Boris's palm against his skin. There's an amused huff of husky laughter from Boris.

"Look at you two." he says. "Like a pair of teenagers."

"Speak for yourself, Borja." Ulana murmurs over Valery's shoulder, lips flush to Valery's ear.

"Right, because weren't you the one complaining of being hard this morning with no one to stick it in?" Valery adds, and Boris's breath clearly catches in his ribs both from the brazen statement and Valery's free hand pressing to the front of his pants. "I believe the most wanton one here is you."

"Is that what you want, Valera?" Boris goads, words tickling along the curve of his ear as he tightens his grip on Valery's hips. "For me to hold you down and stick it in you?"

Valery gasps just a little, his pupils swelling dark. The chiding, teasing smile melts as he turns serious, as he always does when his own desires enflame him. When he struggles to find the words to frame them. When all he can do is want… 

"I… want you both to… hold me." His voice is hushed. Not embarrassed or conspiratorial.

But rather, his tone is reverent. 

Speaking his wants had become something sacred to him. Indulgent and greedy. But also sacred. And when the hungry god he worships is himself, his voice still shakes.

Boris and Ulana lock eyes over his shoulder and just like that the moment turns invitingly in on itself. Truthfully, both Ulana and Boris were still growing accustomed to Valery's brazenness. He still flushes when he says things like that. Still has trouble keeping eye contact. But he says them now, and he means them. No more coaxing. No more prompting. The awkward stammer is still there sometimes and it's as endearing as it had ever been. But he says what he wants.

And when what he wants is both of them, who are they to deny him?

Their hands busy themselves once more, tugging Valery free of his seemingly unending supply of buttons. When his chest is bare, he rubs himself like a cat over Boris's still clothed chest, feeling the soft scratch of his sweater over his bare skin. Over his nipples which have begun to peak. Ulana becomes distracted with the delicate spray of freckles decorating his shoulders and she begins to kiss them one by one until he turns to capture her mouth again. The kiss is awkward and off-center, but still earnest and hungry. He moans against her lips when he feels Boris press his hand against the front of his trousers, rocking his palm against the hardness there. Over and over until Valery has to gasp for air.

He grips Boris's face and shoves their mouths together into a tangle of tongues and teeth. They're so tightly pressed together that Ulana has to give up on further undressing Valery until they can be convinced to pry themselves apart. But there's plenty to do. Her day-dress comes off over her head in a quick swish of fabric that garners Boris's attention, though Valery is still more interested in kissing his way along the line of Boris's jaw. She hadn't bothered with a bra that day, since she hadn't left the house, so there she stood in nothing but her underwear.

Underwear Boris had bought her, though she'd never ascertained from where. They were made of silk so soft and light that she sometimes panicked wearing them, wondering if she'd bothered to put on any at all. There had been days she didn't. When she wanted to surprise Valery and see his face flush as she slipped his hand up her thigh.

That trick had never worked on Boris. She'd discovered that he would tease her for such wantonness, making her beg for him to give in to her intentions. No, Boris was more of a mind to blush when he saw her wearing the things he'd bought for her. Or could watch her enjoy a treat bought just for her. He was sweetly possessive like that. And he did blush now, an even more impressive and soft shade of pink than from Valery's kissing, which was quite the feat. Ulana lets herself fall back across the bed, her hand wriggling beneath her silk panties to rub at the wetness growing between her legs, and that decadent display is all Boris can take.

"We've been negligent, Valera." He says, gently tugging Valery around to face her. Valery makes a sound of protest high in his throat at the loss of Boris's skin against his lips, but the sound he made when he saw Ulana nearly nude on their bed was even more desperate. Instantly he was moving towards her, but Boris holds him fast with one arm bound over his chest. "Look at her. She's as wanton as you are." His eyes twinkle in the light of sunset. "You're going to ruin those, Ulya." he chides.

"Then give me something else to ruin, Borja, if you're so fussed about it."

Something glints in Boris's eyes then as his hand, still rubbing insistently against the fly of Valery's trousers, begins working his fly open. "Shall I give you Valery then? He seems ever so much more interested in you all of a sudden." he asks, already knowing the answer. "Would you like that, Valera?"

Valery gives a lolling nod of his head, knocking his skull back against Boris's shoulder with the force of it. 

"Go on then." Boris says, letting Valery's loosed trousers fall to the floor as he crawls across the bed to her. He's already slicking two fingers obscenely in his mouth as he goes to her. His intent is clear.

"I want to kiss you." he says, falling to her far side so Boris still has a good view and letting his hand play up her inner thigh.

"Oh is that all?" Ulana gives him a pleased little smile as she hitches up her knee to give him better access. "By all means."

Valery, true to form, wastes no time slipping his damp fingers up over her silk-covered mound, but he cleverly splays them so as not to press on anything too interesting. "You're a tease, Valera." she says, pillowing her head on one arm as she reaches up to pull him closer. He doesn't argue or resist, but rather settles himself against the crook of her hip as his fingers slip beneath the silk.

"You're supposed to be salvaging them, Valera. Not making them worse." Boris says watching them, head leaning on the bedpost.

"Maybe I just want you to buy her more." He replies, drawing his finger along the slit of her pussy and dragging a long, thin whine from her lips along with it. A whine he kisses from her mouth with relish.

"You're both insufferable." Boris says, though the timbre of his voice suggests he truly believes otherwise.

"You wanted a show, Borja." Valery says reproachfully, his eyebrow cocked infuriatingly so. "You wanted to watch me ruin myself with her. I'm only giving you what you want."

Ulana moans against his cheek, drawing him down for another kiss as his fingers finally breach her. Where once upon a time he had been tentative or careful, now he forges ahead with abandon. Familiarity had gained him confidence which he freely wields as he touches her, and it isn't long before he has her bowed up into his arms moaning his name between kisses and pleas for more.

Valery is rutting against her hip now, eager to ease his own frustration. But Boris… he just stands and watches. Watches his lovers blend and writhe together as if they were a single creature.

"Are you just going to watch?" Valery says, the edges of his voice fraying a little as he outright goads him. "I thought you were the one pent up and frustrated here."

It's true, Boris had woken up in a state that morning. Rock hard and grinding against the tangle of blankets, but now... there's something soft in Boris's eyes as he looks on them. Still fevered and hungry yes, but there's also something soft and wanting as he begins to strip out of his clothes. He doesn't have the teasing grace that Ulana has, but he has the urgency. And when he's nude, he retrieves their jar of lubricant from the bedside drawer and crawls up behind Valery on the bed. 

For a moment, Boris contents himself with a little rutting of his own, his hips matching time and pace with Valery's as he grinds himself against Ulana's thigh. But Boris's patience only holds out so long, which of course isn't terribly long at all. His kisses grow teeth. His hands grip harder. And soon, in a clumsily desperate shuffle, he rids Valery of his briefs. When his hand closes around Valery's length it draws out a gasp so sugar-sweet Ulana actually feels it in her teeth.

But Valery never loses time. Never loses concentration. He wants Boris's hands on him and he wants kisses, but more than anything he wants to make Ulana come. She's so beautiful when he can coax her into coming apart in his hands. The sounds she makes… the sight of her chest heaving and her pupils eating up her sea-green irises as she loses herself to his touch. There's nothing better. Nothing he wants more.

He crooks his fingers within her, now buried up to the second knuckle, and he drags them out slowly so that his fingertips catch on that wonderful, sparking place along her inner walls. It spurs her to action as he does so, one hand flying down to grab his elbow so that she can more effectively ride his hand. He rewards her enthusiasm with his thumb on her clit as well, earning himself a moan so delicious he's surprised Boris doesn't try to eat it from her mouth.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Boris says with a rough sort of fondness as he hooks his chin over Valery's shoulder. He's still rutting against the curve of his ass but it's unhurried now. As if he knows he'll get what's his in due time. 

"Beautiful…" Valery echoes it on a whisper as he pushes into Boris's grip and pushes his fingers deeper into Ulana. 

She bucks against him even harder as heat begins to pool around her core where he's winding her up tighter and tighter around his fingers. The friction of his thumb on her sensitive clit is perfectly maddening. The tension is perfect and otherworldly. Her heart races, and her breathing jumps. Her nails eat into his skin as she buries herself against his chest. She can't look at either of them. Can't bear to see them watching her. It makes something heated and hungry ache in her chest.

Perfect… it's all perfect…

They're here… and it's all perfect...

And then she's falling. She doesn't know what it is that pushes her past the edge. Some confluence of touch and sound and the look in both their eyes as they watch her fall apart. But she's falling through the wonderful canopy of ecstasy Valery grew for her, and they are both there to catch her. Boris pulls her close to them, and Valery is peppering her face with kisses as the quaking of her orgasm subsides. Then he pulls his hand free of her underwear, bringing his fingers to his lips and smearing the slickness of her there for Boris's tongue to taste in turn. It's a debauched thing to watch and if Ulana could have come again so soon she's fairly certain she would have. 

Instead, she covers Boris's hand with her own where he's not given up mercilessly working the other man's length. Valery's nearly incoherent with it by now so she looks over his shoulder to Boris. "Shall I keep him entertained while you get him ready?" she asks forcing her voice to be primly twittish even though her breath is still shaking on every exhale.

"If that's what he wants." Boris replies with a wicked grin.

Ulana slides her eyes, which admittedly are still having trouble focusing after her climax, to Valery's face. He looks utterly wanton, with lips parted and cheeks flushed. Like a painting… something not quite real. And yet she can kiss him, and she does repeatedly before he can answer her. He drinks it in before he finds words.

"I want…" he pauses and licks his lips with that perfect pink tongue. "I want your mouth, Ulya… please…"

"Oh…" she hears herself say, surprised yet again at his brazenness. But she doesn't deny him. Doesn't even make him wait as long as it would take for her to say "alright." She shimmies down the bed, to where Boris has been busily stroking him and sucks the head of his ruddy cock into her mouth. 

"Ah… ah…" He arches back as if he's been struck. Pours his body back over Boris who holds him, one thick arm wrapped over his chest.

Ulana does little more than just hold him in her mouth, stroking the flat of her tongue along the satiny head to taste the precome dripping there. She looks up and sees Valery still with his face pointed heavenwards but Boris stares down at her hungrily.

"Shall I start Valera?" he asks in a teasing, almost melodic tone. He nods furiously in response, one hand coming to grip where Boris is holding him fast against his chest, and the other slipping into the dark fall of Ulana's hair. She closes her eyes against it, feeling his fingers push against her scalp. Not to direct. Just to hold, as if he might fly off the bed with the force of the sensations washing through him. 

"Hold still, then." Boris says before rolling away to reach for the tub of lubricant. He's back in an instant, draping himself around Valery and stealing another kiss from the nape of his neck. "If you can."

As he's slicking up his fingers, Ulana takes to her task of keeping Valery entertained with gusto. She takes as much of Valery's length as she can, hollowing her cheeks and letting him drag over her kiss-swollen lips. He cries out as she does, and while he doesn't exactly pull her hair, his hand does twitch and tighten in the strands for a moment as she swallows around his cock. 

Valery feels weightless like this. Weightless and powerless in the most amazing and comforting way. Ulana and Boris, they have him. They are, as in all things, his anchor. His head and his heart, always. They won't let him get away even though he feels as if he might fall upward into the sky at any moment. Especially as Boris's freshly slicked fingers begin to skirt the ring of muscle at his backside.

The first time he and Boris had done this had been mildly terrifying. Awkward and full of starts and stops as Valery wrestled with tension in both his nerves and his body. But now, he knows what he wants. He wants this and he had asked for it. Asked for Ulana's mouth and Boris's fingers, and eventually they were going to fuck him together. They were going to take him apart and fall to pieces with him themselves, and he'd never felt so cherished and cared for in all his life.

Nor as loved…

That's what this was, after all.

They hadn't said it. Not really. Not in the way people did in the movies with ardent declarations. Poet that he sometimes played at being, Valery had never found words. And they had never had the time before their flight from their homeland. Or maybe they had missed the moment to say it for the first time. Maybe they should have said it when they shared that night together in the Polissia, though how could they have known then what shape this was going to take? Perhaps their chance might have been on the boat with the sun rising over the Soviet Union as they sailed off into the Gulf of Riga, but at the time they had still been working on believing their plan had worked. There had been no room for waxing poetic declarations. Just desperate relief at finally being together again...

Or perhaps the time had not yet come. They had more of it now. More than ever… Certainly more than they'd thought two years ago… Even with their shortened lives, they still had time.

Boris's finger breached his body and Ulana's clever tongue wriggled just so against his frenulum and that brought Valery out of his strange melancholy. Who could be distracted overlong with these two servicing them so? His whole body fizzed with pleasure. His skin felt hot and almost prickly as they worked him together. He wanted to thrust but he couldn't. Boris's arm still bound his chest and Ulana was working his length with one hand and gripping his hip with the other. He could do nothing more than accept what they were doing.

And he _wanted_ to do nothing else.

They always gave him what he asked for.

And he had asked for this.

He _wanted_ this.

Them. They were his and he was theirs, never more so than in moments like this

Boris pulls his finger free only to replace it a second later with two, freshly slicked and probing deep inside his body. He finds what he's looking for quickly enough, outlining the soft bulge of his prostate before pressing into it with a languid curl of his fingers. Valery would have pitched forward if Boris hadn't been holding him securely against his chest, but as it stands he leaks copiously into Ulana's mouth making her moan at the taste.

That alone would have made him come under normal circumstances, aroused and desperate as he is, but his… his lovers… that's what they are… his lovers know his body as well as he does, and they know how far they can push him before he falls past the point of no return. They can take him to that edge and hold him there in ecstatic agony for as long as it pleases them.

For as long as it pleases _him._

But he eventually begs. He begs quicker than he might otherwise, but with both of them he's always so easily overcome.

"Are you sure, Valera?" Boris asks. He'd only worked two fingers into him and he normally went for three, ensuring he was loose and ready.

"Yes, Borja. Yes, please… Ulya…" he's tugging at her shoulder but the grip of his hands is weak and loose. But nevertheless, she allows herself to be pulled up to the pillows so that Valery can cradle her face in his hands. Her cheeks are red from exertion and her lips are plump and swollen. He kisses his taste from them, tongue darting between her teeth. "Ulya…" he moans against her lips, feeling their fevered plushness on his.

"How do you want this, Valera?" Ulana asks. "Who first?"

"Borja…" He says, half in answer and half a bereft moan as Boris pulls his fingers free and wipes them on the bed sheet. 

"Yes, alright…" Boris says, kissing his neck as he slicks himself up well. Valery moans again, keening and wanting until the sound is choked off by Boris canting Valery's hips back just enough so that the head of his cock brushes against his opening.

"God please, Borja… please… I want…"

"Yes alright." Boris says again, soothing one hand over his chest again as he fits the head of his cock to Valery's desperately spasming hole. He locks eyes with Ulana over Valery's shoulder and gives a tight nod before sliding home in a single motion. She has Valery's cock in a firm grip, almost painful, ensuring that the pressure won't make him come before she's gotten her turn.

Valery cries out when Boris breaches him. His whole body goes stiff as if he's unsure if he wants to chase the sensation or let it carry him forward into Ulana. But it doesn't matter. Boris's arm keeps him pinned reassuringly in place. Keeps him from flying apart. Hasn't it always?

Hasn't he always...

"Ulya please… I'm not going to last…"

"He's big isn't he?" She says, her grip unwavering as she hitches one leg up over both their hips so that the tip of Valery's erection, blushed nearly to purple by this point, rests against her entrance. "I love how both of you feel…" she says slipping down his length inch by inch. Valery cries out in response, a wounded sound that rings off the walls.

And he does nothing to quell it. No clenching of his jaw or fist between his teeth.

There's no one to hear them.

No one to care.

It's just them.

They hang in that moment, pieced together like a divine puzzle. They're all gasping for air like they've run a marathon but they've barely moved. Every movement... even every breath amplifies the sensations arcing through all three of them, leaving them stunned and panting as they adjust. 

Boris is the first to give into the urge to move, and when he does he carries his partners with him. With a rough, hungry grunt, he rolls his hips forward, sending Valery moaning and thrusting into the clutching heat of Ulana's body, making her keen in turn. Together they work like a perfectly tuned machine. One designed to create nothing but bountiful pleasure at every turn. Every touch. Every sound. Every thrust. All three of them are blind with it. Deaf to anything but the sounds they are making together. Numb to all but the growing urgency between them and everywhere their bodies touch. 

And somehow it's still not enough.

Valery arches back, baring himself to both of them. Allowing himself to sink deeper into Ulana even as Boris spears him with such force that he feels he might split clean down the middle. He catches Boris's lips in a messy kiss that eventually devolves into Boris mouthing his way down his neck. Lips turn to tongue and then to teeth, and Ulana watches with rapt attention as Boris sucks a livid mark into the skin of Valery's shoulder, bringing up a purpled bruise beneath the freckles. 

For her part she kisses the mark in turn, teasing it with her own teeth before nibbling her way across his chest. She maps every inch she can reach. Over each nipple. Up the line of his fluttering pulse. And all the while she rocks herself down onto him mercilessly, moaning high in her throat every time she does so. 

"Ulya…" he buries his face against her chest, his hands finally finding motion and coming to cup her breasts as they bounce and sway between them. That has her moaning anew… that familiar heat beginning to tighten in her core again. Winding around and around everywhere he was touching her. Everywhere Boris was touching her. He's gripping her hip now, leveraging every thrust to send Valery driving into her.

"Touch her, Valera." Boris urges. "Touch her clit. Look how close she is, you tease."

Valery follows his instruction despite being glassy-eyed and pleasure-drunk, his fingers moving with practiced ease even in the height of passion. He finds the swollen little nub and presses his thumb to it, watching with rapt attention as she arches to meet him. 

"Valera… Borja… oh… oh…" The breath falls out from under her voice as the pressure of her impending climax continues to build. She can practically taste her pulse in the back of her throat, along with every thrust Boris crashes through all three of them. The edges of her vision turn fuzzy. Everywhere but Valery's wonderful boyish face, slack and flushed with want.

She comes first, but Boris and Valery are close on her heels. She feels her orgasm beginning to come unspooled as Valery loses all control of his thrusting, heat wicking out under her skin and catching fire everywhere they are touching her. Boris grunts again, burying his face in Valery's ginger hair and spilling into the spasming heat of Valery's body.

And Valery… he goes limp as his orgasm crashes through him. He comes and comes, his orgasm trickling out of Ulana even as Boris's come escapes from him to ooze stickily down his thighs. He's sags between them, completely useless and used up. Panting, sticky, and still weakly grinding himself against Ulana. A mess, in short. A cherished mess, he felt judging by the way Ulana and Boris were still peppering him with lazy kisses. But a mess.

And happily so.

It was Boris who moved first, fetching them his towel from that morning's shower to wipe themselves down, but he didn't move any farther than that. He didn't even leave the bed to fetch it and tossed it back to the floor as he collapsed beside them once more, pulling them close under his corded arm.

They lay like that for a long time. No one moving. The occasional moan or wet sound of kisses. But nothing else… there could be nothing else...

"We should see to dinner." Boris says after an uncounted amount of time.

"I know." Valery replies, rubbing his cheek against the silver hair on Boris's chest. "Just a few minutes more?" he asks, his voice small and his impossibly blue eyes wide and shining in the gathering dimness. 

_He always looks so young when he asks for what he wants,_ Boris thinks. _So sweet and small._

There for the briefest second, there's a sense of… not deja vu exactly. But of being in two places at once. Two instances of the same request. Two instances of the same desire.

And a different answer. At long last.

Boris draws them both close, his large hand knitting into Ulana's dark hair as he lays a kiss of Valery's cheek.

"As long as you like, Valera." he says, gazing wonderingly and lovingly at Ulana. "As long as you like."

***


	11. And this, at Last, is the Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thermos of coffee hits the top of Svetlana's desk with an audible thunk.
> 
> "Good morning, Comrade Ivanoshova." Dmitri intones flatly as she sits up in her chair with a start. He waits for her to blink her vision clear before he folds his arms with a rather cross expression. "You know. When I decided to take on Comrade Khomyuk's assistant after she disappeared, I didn't fancy that I'd be getting a carbon copy of the woman herself."
> 
> "I thought you liked working with her." She sniped back, her tongue still a little too heavy with sleep to be terribly sharp.
> 
> "I did. And I like working with you." he says. "But she worked too hard and so do you."
> 
> Svetlana scowls at him as she grabs the thermos of coffee. She nearly scalds her tongue in her rush to wash the stale taste of shallow sleep from her mouth. She doesn't even answer him. Just continues to glare at him sullenly as she attempts to smooth a cowlick from her cropped hair. 
> 
> "Where is everyone?" she finally asks, now looking around the empty lab.
> 
> He gives a sardonic smile as he flips through some envelopes. "They won't be in today."
> 
> The lines across her brow deepen. "Why?"
> 
> "It's Saturday."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday, everyone!
> 
> Well... here we are! The epilogue at last! Thank you all so much for hanging with me, especially through the bumps in the posting schedule. Your enthusiasm and your patience together were such a humbling and encouraging gift. I dearly love how uplifting this small but mighty fan community is. Cheers to all of you! 
> 
> Thank you also to my beta readers @kaminaduck and Lucas. And a big thank you to @cactusowl for his help with the science-y bits and to @jedikatalina for their help with authenticity. You can find anyone with the @ symbol on Tumblr... go show them some love. And @kaminaduck can also be found under the same handle on Twitch! Go check him out. Sometimes I even make an appearance either in chat or playing along.
> 
> And thank you all again, one last time. You're all the best fans anyone could ask for.
> 
> Much love! Enjoy the epilogue!

**May 16, 1988**

The thermos of coffee hits the top of Svetlana's desk with an audible thunk.

"Good morning, Comrade Ivanoshova." Dmitri intones flatly as she sits up in her chair with a start. He waits for her to blink her vision clear before he folds his arms with a rather cross expression. "You know. When I decided to take on Comrade Khomyuk's assistant after she disappeared, I didn't fancy that I'd be getting a carbon copy of the woman herself."

"I thought you liked working with her." She sniped back, her tongue still a little too heavy with sleep to be terribly sharp.

"I did. And I like working with you." he says. "But she worked too hard and so do you."

Svetlana scowls at him as she grabs the thermos of coffee. She nearly scalds her tongue in her rush to wash the stale taste of shallow sleep from her mouth. She doesn't even answer him. Just continues to glare at him sullenly as she attempts to smooth a cowlick from her cropped hair. 

"Where is everyone?" she finally asks, now looking around the empty lab.

He gives a sardonic smile as he flips through some envelopes. "They won't be in today."

The lines across her brow deepen. "Why?"

"It's Saturday."

"Oh. Right. And you're in because…?"

"I still work too hard." He says, keeping the grin as he pulls a particularly thick envelope out of the stack. "Stopped by the mailroom on my way up. There was a package for you."

She cocks her pretty head and puts her hands out for it. A package for her? On a Saturday? Huh. It's a fat brown envelope with a twine enclosure and a return address she didn't recognize. The Kursk State University? Did she know someone that went to study there? Or maybe she put in for some records from there?

She picks the knot on the twine and unwinds it, and out of the envelope slides what is clearly a dissertation. 

"Advances in Heavy-density Concrete as it Pertains to Nuclear Shielding" by Sonya Grennadiva Kozlova." She reads aloud.

"Anyone you know?" Dimitri says, picking up on her frown and coming to stand behind her.

"No." She replies opening the cover. A slip of paper flutters out of the booklet and onto her desk. 

_I received your dissertation on heavy metals and sent it along to my colleagues in the engineering and policy department. They'll be able to help you with your formulas more than I will. This is a copy of my dissertation, which has not yet been sent up for review. The figures aren't quite straight yet, but I hoped you might have a look. Your help with this is immensely valuable to me._

There was no signature.

As she had been reading, Dimitri had slid the booklet over closer to himself, flipped past the abstract and was thumbing through the endless pages of math with a tight, confused frown on his face. "Aren't quite straight? None of this-"

"Dimitri." she says, laying a hand over the page he's examining. Her voice had gone deadly soft.

He looks to her and finds her sitting ramrod straight and still, fingers still splayed out almost protectively on the paper. She's staring at the dissertation laying open on her desk with a mix of horror and wonder that he's never seen before, on her face or otherwise. He almost feels sick at the sight, but he was taken even more aback by the fact that she'd called him by his first name.

"What did you just c-"

"Dimitri, you didn't see this." Svetlana says, her voice barely a whisper as she hastily flips the cover shut and snatches it off the desk. Then she pivots in her chair looking him dead in the eye as she clutches the dissertation to her chest until the flimsy cardboard cover creases under the pressure. "You didn't see this." 

"What…?"

"You didn't see this. We never had this conversation. I picked up the mail today. Do you understand?" 

Svetlana suddenly seems impossibly older, and more serious than he's ever seen her. So even if he hasn't the foggiest idea what's happening, he still gives her a dumbfounded nod. 

She shoves the dissertation into her bag along with her desk calculator. Then she stands up tall with her narrow shoulders square, and says very clearly and performatively. "I'm not feeling well. So I'm going to take the day off. Sleeping in the lab was a terrible idea." And with that she marches towards the door.

"What… what's wrong?" Dimitri asks, chasing after her.

She freezes mid-stride and clearly panics, searching for an excuse. "I just got my period." She finally says.

"Oh God." Dimitri says pulling a face.

"So I'm going to go." And then she stiffly rounds on her heels, pulls the laminated periodic table from the wall, and marches out the door.

Dimitri is struck, and not for the first time while working with Svetlana, by a marked sense of deja vu. He really hadn't anticipated that in taking on Comrade Khomyuk's assistant that he'd truly be taking on a younger version of his former mentor. But here he was. And there she went. Out the door and off into who knew what kind of trouble.

But there was iron in the girl, just as there had been in Khomyuk. But unlike his former mentor, somehow he knew he'd see her again.

***

It takes Svetlana hours of figuring and computing to finally get a solution to the code. The math is a far more difficult and arcane puzzle than the one she and Ulana left for Legasov to work out. But nevertheless, she computes and puzzles and prys and figures until well after dark, and eventually, a message forms.

_You have my undying gratitude for your assistance. I am given to understand that you had the choice to flee with us but chose instead to stay behind for the betterment of the Soviet Union. You are a better and braver person and scientist than I, and I wish you luck, safety, and long life. For there are some injustices that we can chance to change, some we must cunningly circumvent, and some that we must simply outlast. _

_I have no advice to give you beyond my own cautionary tale, which you already know. But I have left you something to aid you in your quest for a more truthful and open scientific community within the Soviet Union, if that is to be your goal. Beside my old apartment building in Moscow, Building 5 off Shchukinskaya, there is an alleyway. One of the vent panels has only two screws. Inside you'll find a stack of tapes and a key. The tapes are my memoirs of what happened in Chernobyl. The flaws in the reactor. The lies of the KGB and the Kremlin. Our story. The truth, in short. Use them as they suit your purpose and to serve the Soviet people. The key is to apartment six in that same building, and sadly comes with one last favor for me. Please see to my cat, Polina, if you find her there. She is sweet and was my dearest companion during my exile. I regret that I couldn't bring her with me._

_Thank you, Comrade. I hope my words have some small value in repayment for the danger you've put yourself in for our sakes. Our hopes go with you. I've given you everything I know. I know you'll try your best. _

_Yours most gratefully,_

_Valery_

Once she's read it, Svetlana stares at the decrypted message with her heart in her throat. She doesn't know how long she just sits there and stares. Her handwriting, but his voice. Valery Legasov. _The_ Valery Legasov had… left her something. Had left her his legacy. He had left her the truth of what happened in Chernobyl. What caused the accident and all that occurred after. And he'd left it for her to do _something_ with. But what? Maybe she would know after she listened to the tapes. Which meant her next course of action should be their retrieval. 

And the cat too. 

What the hell is she going to do with a cat?

Questions for later.

She packs a small bag and phones her associate at the Kurchatov Institute the following morning. She's at the train station before dinner and in Moscow before breakfast the following day. But she doesn't head straight to her colleague's apartment or to the institute. She first stops at the address Legasov had left her.

And sure enough, just as he'd indicated, there's a vent panel with only two screws. Inside she finds a parcel. Six tapes, wrapped in newsprint and tied with twine. And a key. Quickly, the tapes go in her bag, beneath layers of books. The key she pockets before she replaces the vent cover.

But before she can head for the apartment entrance, she feels an insistent nudge against her booted ankle. She looks down to find a little tabby cat with white paws and clever green eyes rubbing against her ankles. A collar around her throat is roughly stitched with the letters "Polina." 

The cat gives a scratchy little mew and raises up on her hind legs so as to bump her face against Svetlana's knee. And Svetlana's heart positively melts. No wonder it pained Legasov to leave this creature behind. She was clearly the sweetest thing to ever wander the earth.

Svetlana bends down and scoops up the little cat, who goes limp as soon as her paws leave the ground as if her bones were made of water. And she mews again, though not in complaint. She butts her face into Svetlana's ear, knocking loose a giggle of delight. 

"What shall I do with you, hmmm?" Svetlana coos, pressing her nose into the cat's fur. It still smells faintly like cigarette smoke and she's purring like an engine. "Shall I take you home with me?"

There's another mew, presumably of agreement, and so Svetlana calmly saunters out of the alley with Polina tucked up over her shoulder like a ragdoll. She wonders what she should feed a cat. She's never had one before. And she wonders how she'll manage to get Polina back to Minsk. But most of all she wonders one thing.

If her friend at Kurchatov has a tape player.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Come flail with me on Tumblr at @littlethingwithfeathers!


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